The Seventy Seventh Hunger Games: The First
by MyrtleFalls
Summary: The rebels' idea of a new Panem failed. The Capitol has taken over once more, and now it is time for the first Hunger Games of their new reign. Twists and turns lurk around every corner, and fear is turned in the hearts of all who watch the Games, inside or outside the arena. Let the 77th Hunger Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favor. I do not own the Hunger Games.
1. The Announcement

_ The New Rebellion failed, just as the Old Rebellion did. The rebels were slightly more successful: they did manage to take over all of Panem and kill the Capitol's President. However, once the first presdient, President Paylor, died, the candidates for the presindency played dirty. They sparked rumors, spreaded lies and turmoil, and even assasinated the top nominee. During this time of unrest and weakness, the Capitol seized the advantage and took over, quickly re-instating power over the Districts and truly destorying District 13 once and for all. District 12 was put back into action as a nessessity, and the Capitol slid back into their old routines, deserving the luxruy of their lives. After all, the Districts had taken everything from them, including their children, put into the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, which is nicknamed "The Capitol Games." So as punishment for their crimes, the Capitol re-instated the Hunger Games upon the Districts.  
_

_ The Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games has been called the climax of all the Games. Not one Hunger Games has ever come close to the ferocity and intrigue that this Game had. Twists and turns lurked around every corner, horrors were many, and fear was turned in the hearts of every being who watched the show, inside or outside of the Arena. It is said that even the winner of this Game wakes up screaming every night, still haunted by the Games that nearly didn't let a victor remain._

~Excerpt from _The Silent Killer: A Complete History of The Hunger Games_

Rosilian Snow stood in front of the cameras. Her face was smooth and umblemished like all in the Capitol, but there was something in her eyes, ice-blue just like her grandfather's, that was harsh and tortured: she only sign that she had been the victor of the Capitol Games. Although the odds were repeatedly stacked against her, she managed to come out on top; the sole survivor.

The cameras clicked on, and she was live.

"Citizens of Panem," she addressed them, her voice smooth, "The New Rebellion has officially failed. As many of you already know, I, Rosilian Snow and victor of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, am the new president of Panem."

She paused to let the information sink in.

"I have thought long and hard over what I should do to punish the Districts for their uprising against the Capitol. I considered anniliating another District. I considered making the Districts work as slaves, instead of for pay, blackmail instead of bribery. But," she said, "I have decided that the best way to show the Districts that all that they did, all that they worked for, was in vain, is simple."

"I have been through the Hunger Games. I have fought and killed and saved and won and lost, all at the same time. I have seen their horrors and lived it. I know how the Districts feel when they see a tribute fall. I have felt the way a victor does when she comes home a stranger."

"And I have decided that there is no better way to punish the Districts."

The live audience was in an uproar, cheering and crying out in suppory of her descision.

She waited for them to quiet down before continuing. "One thousand, seven hundred and one District tributes have died in the Hunger Games, not including the victors killed in the Seventy-Fifth, or the victors that were executed in the -three Capitol children have died as well. Those Capitolian children's deaths will be avenged. I don't care if it takes a hundred more years of Hunger Games, with twenty-three hundred more District children dead."

"So put on your reaping dress, and gather in the town square. The Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games are about to begin."

Her eyes sparked with a slight madness.

"And may the odds be _ever _in your favor."

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, because I am not Suzanne Collins. I also don't own The Silent Killer: A Complete History of the Hunger Games. The idea of that belongs to one of my best friends who is known on FanFiction as BlackCat711, Parakeet of the Shopping Mall, or Daydreamer that's Asleep. She changes her penname a lot...**

_**HAPPY HUNGER GAMES, AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!**_


	2. Tribute List

~Tribute List~

**District One**

Ori Skipvine

Specktacle 'Speck' Frahn

**District Two**

Sierra-Grace Soro

Mercury Balt

**District Three**

Sever Cinder

Sheabella Davidson

**District Four**

Caristonia 'Christie' Lucien

Shadow Lipinskii

**District Five**

December 'Dekk' Hadaway

Morgan Falls

**District Six**

Miles Fox

Ariana Gomez

**District Seven**

Aryn Merula

Tasi Merkava

**District Eight**

Alfie Scroh

Sparrow Albaleen

**District Nine**

Via Abram

Gaige Nerewood

**District Ten**

Honey McKerrow

Alarick Membran

**District Eleven**

Caper Malvace

Rowan Talbot

**District Twelve**

Raven Redbird

Cloudyskies 'Sky' Sazaar


	3. District 1 Reapings

**Thank you all so much for all your tributes! Our District One girl was created by skittlesgirl99, and our boy by WriterFreak101. I'm not going to do**

**I would also like to thank Dark-RoseMarrie and skittlesgirl99 for being my unofficial betas for this chapter. :D**

District 1: Ori Skipvine

District 1 has been abuzz ever since President Rosilian announced the reinstating of the Hunger Games. Rumors of who is volunteering and who is not are flung wildly through the streets, passed on in whispers or been heard by a bragger.

I know that I must be in there, too, my name circulating through the grapevine. People glance at me on the streets and start whispering.

I don't care. I'm going to volunteer nonetheless.

Training for the Hunger Games has been my life. When I was young, not even eligible for the reapings yet, my parents forced me to begin training. I didn't want to, the Hunger Games have always seemed cruel to me. But my father wanted me to become the next victor, and I wanted to make him proud, so I trained. It seems like training is all I do anymore, sometimes. But then I see the pleased smile on my father's face when I hack apart a dummy, and my heart glows. And I want to train more.

I was thirteen when the rebellion started. Katniss Everdeen's Games, then the Quell, then war. It had all seemed so rushed to me then, but at the same time I had slowly felt it creeping up us.

District 1 was one of the last Districts to join the rebellion. My mother had kept myself and my dozen siblings inside, while we watched the chaos on the streets out the window. Part of me had wanted to be out there, on the streets that so closely resembled the Games that my District has been practically idolizing all my life. One huge bloodbath. But I stayed inside. I didn't want to waste my life on something that might not even come true.

And then it did. All of the sudden, we were in control. District 13 rose from the dust, literally, and were the heroes of the rebellion. District 12 was destroyed and rebuilt. A very, very brief 'Golden Age' was in the time of Paylor's reign, starting with the 76th Hunger Games that wrought our new President Snow. Everyone calls her President Rosilian, though, to keep confusion at bay.

The Capitol's retaliation was swift and silent. Our Districts rioted, and somehow, when they subdued, the Capitol was in control again. Just like that.

I didn't know what would happen, of course. But I must say, I'm pleased with the outcome. My life wasn't a waste. Training wasn't a waste. I could still win. I could still be victor. Let me rephrase that: I _will _win. I _will _become victor.

And today is the day that it will begin. The first Games of the new reign. The 77th Hunger Games. I think it sounds quite lovely: Ori Skipvine, victor of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games.

Pulling my hair glossy black hair back into my signature high ponytail, I quickly fasten it with a hair tie and call it good. I don't need any special hairstyle: this is what I'll wear into the arena, and I want people to recognize me. Then I put on my reaping dress that I selected last week when the President made her announcement. It's a summer dress: the skirt goes down to my knees, and has simple, flowing sleeves that barely reach my elbows. It's a light, sea foam green and I'm told it looks good with my eyes.

Of course, I couldn't care less about fashion, but the sponsors in the Capitol will, so I'll try my best to impress.

Coming out of my room, Two whistles appreciatively. I have so many siblings, I can hardly remember the girls' names, let alone the boys. So I simply number them One through Seven, One being the oldest of the boys and Seven only one and a half years old. "You look good, Miss Victor!" he calls.

I roll my eyes at his immaturity. "Thanks," I say dryly.

Dethet, the littlest of my sisters comes out of her room in our large house, and gives me a hug. Her black hair that so closely resembles mine is a mess.

"Good morning, Ori!" she chirps. "You look really pretty."

The same complement coming from my favorite sister affects me much more that it does coming from my annoying brother. I smile at her. "Thanks, Dethet. You look really nice too," I respond, and grab a brush off of the table and try to fix her hair. "Come on, let's get you dressed." Dethet takes my hand and we go to her room.

After about five minutes, her hair looks presentable, with most of the tangles gone. Yesterday my little sister had picked out a pale pink frock, and I help her into it. She looks very cute and innocent by the end, a perfect reflection of her personality. To finish the picture, I put in her favorite hair clip: a sparkly bluebird barette.

"Now that we've got you all fixed up, let's get you some breakfast!" I call to Dethet, and begin walking down the hall.

Normally, in our house, we eat breakfast as we get hungry. But on reaping days, we all gather at the huge table in the dining room and eat our breakfast together. It's quite a spectacle: my mother and father, myself, the oldest, the twins Rima and Rinnie, Nily, Arton, Ryna, and Dethet being the girls, and then One through Seven are there as well. All in all, we have fourteen of us crowded around the table, talking and pushing and shoving as we try to get to the food at the center of the table. I manage to get through it without spilling anything on my clothes, although Dethet spills some hot chocolate on herself and I have to rush to get some towels to clean her up.

As soon as I'm done, I rush over to my father. My mother, Nie, is still in the kitchen, cooking for the rest of the still-hungry children.

"Dad, may I please go down to the town square? I want to get there early, so I can get a spot in the front of the Eighteens section."

"Of course!" he roars, thumping me on the back. "We wouldn't want someone taking your place, now would we!"

I shake my head no. "Thank you!"

I quickly kiss Dethet on her hot-chocolate sticky cheek, then rush out the door.

The paved streets of District 1 make for easy, quick traveling. I rush down them, reaching the town square in no time. There are already fifty or so people here, the early risers like myself. I'm able to secure a spot in the Eighteens section right up at the front, with a good view of the stage, but more importantly, the people on the stage have a good view of me. There will be no people trying to grab my volunteer this year. I've seen it done before: someone calls out to volunteer, but someone else reaches the stage before them.

Slowly, people trickle in. My training partner, Hanee, waves to me as she comes in and takes a spot next to me.

"You're volunteering this year?" she says it like a statement.

I nod.

Hanee nods back. "Okay," she says, but it's obvious that she's concerned. Hanee's always worrying about me, I have no idea why. I'm perfectly fine.

We stand together in silence as everyone else takes their places. Dethet waves to me from her place on the borders of the Eighteen section, and I wave back.

After what seems like forever, the escort gets on the stage. It's not the same escort that drew the names for the 76th Games, or for the 75th. He announces himself as Mel Avene. He is definitely one of our stranger-looking escorts: he has metallic gold hair that's been spiked so his hair looks like a child's drawing of the sun. His eyes match his hair, and his skin is bleached white and patterned with gold splatter tattoos.

In short, he repulses me.

"Okay!" Mel squeals in his ridiculous Capitol accent, "Let's get this started! I would just love love _love _to skip to the reapings! The suspense is killing me! But of course, we have to read the Treaty of Treason first, now don't we?"

The mayor shoots a look that is a mix of puzzlement and disgust at the escort, then begins to read the long and arduous Treaty.

When he's done, and Mel takes the stage again, the butterflies that have been steadily growing in my stomach all morning are let loose and are running wild. I'm biting my lip to keep from shouting _I volunteer! _before it's time.

"Now, let's mix things up a little and let the boys go first, since the ladies always get the honor."

He places his hand in the bowl and draws out a name. "Kyanite Sahng!"

The name is barely out of his mouth before a tall, bulky boy in the Seventeen section shoots his hand into the air. "I volunteer!" he crows.

A mass of boys begin running up to the stage, the one who truly volunteered and others. The true volunteer shoves through them, dealing blows every so often. Soon he's scrambling up the steps.

"And what might your name be?" Mel asks.

But I already know and inwardly groan. Is this _really _who my District partner is going to be?

"Spectacle Frahn," he says proudly. "But call me Speck."

Spectacle Frahn and his group of cronies are the most popular people in school. They're obnoxious and rude and really just annoying in every way imaginable. They all say they're going to volunteer: I guess one of them actually got up the guts to do it.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, let's have a round of applause for our male tribute, Speck Frahn!"

He grins and waves to the cameras.

"Now, let's find out who our lovely lady tribute is going to be!"

I gag slightly. Lovely lady tribute? That's going to be me! Except that I would not describe myself as a lovely lady. That's the same as calling me a 'damsel in distress.'

He swirls the slips in the bowl to drum up anticipation. Ever so carefully, he draws a slip.

This is my chance. This is my time to shine, per say. It's my time to become who I was meant to be: the victor of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games.

"Tiara Demms!"

"I volunteer!" I yell, thrusting my hand into the air. Before anyone else can try to steal my glory, I rush up to the stage.

"Another volunteer!" Mel says, happy with the outcome. "And so young, too! What's your name?"

I can feel my ears redden. I'm short for my age, only 5'3. It is true: standing next to Speck, he towers over me.

I shoot a glare at Mel. "My name," I spit, "is Ori Skipvine. And I am _eighteen _years old."

Now it's Mel's turn to blush. He fumbles an apology under his breath, and continues on with the customary lines.

"Well, there you have it, folks! The District 1 tributes! Let's have a hand for them!"

The applause is deafening. Mel gestures for us to shake hands. We do. His grip is crushing, and I make mine equally so.

"I'm going to crush you, girl," he snarls.

I only grin, and I know that my eyes are shifting into that creepy stare that they sometime have.

As if he'll beat me.

We're led into the Justice Building for our final goodbyes. Hanee, who was sitting next to me, is the first to reach me. She's still looking worried.

"Ori, you have to win this, okay? Because if you don't, you die, and I _cannot _have that happen. For myself, and for your family, and for everyone…" she looks like she's about to cry.

"Hanee, we've trained for this. I'll be fine," I reassure her.

"But…." her lip trembles slightly.

"Look. You've wanted to go into the Games all your life, and now you're being worried about me? You could be here in my place, Hanee. You know that I'll be fine."

My friend takes a deep breath and wipes away the tear that snuck out of her eye. "I-I know, Ori," she stutters.

"If it makes a difference, can you promise me something?"

"Of course!"

"If I do die, _which I won't, _will you take care of my family?"

"Yes, Ori." She's like a complacent little girl, unlike the Hanee I usually know. She must be really upset.

"Good. Now, I think they want you to go." I gesture to the Peacekeepers who are beginning to give Hanee glares.

She nods. "Well then….goodbye, Ori. And good luck."

"Thanks," I say stiffly.

She glances back over her shoulder at me, then walks out.

My next visitors are my brothers, 1 through 6. 7 is too little, he'll be with my parents. They all cheer me on, assuring me of my victory. I stay silent through their goodbyes, except for the occasional nod of a head or, "Yeah." as a response.

As if by clockwork, my sisters come next. They all wish me luck, then leave. I'm not particularly close to them, either, so my reaction is the same as when I was with my brothers.

Dethet hurries in after Ryna leaves. "Ori!" she chirps. "Where are you going?"

I sit awkwardly for a while. I can't tell her that I might die, that I'll be killing. Her image of me would be ruined forever.

"I'm….going on a trip!" I say, forcing my voice to sound bright.

She frowned. "Can't I go with you?"

"Sorry, Dethet, but only big kids can go."

Her pout widened. "Can you _pleeease _take me with you?" she said, giving me her cutest pouty face.

"No, Dethet. It's not allowed."

She starts crying a little. "I want to go with you!"

"I would love if you could come with me," I lied, "but the grown-ups wouldn't let you. Besides, daddy and mommy would miss you."

She sniffles a little. "Can I at least give you a present?"

My heart breaks as she says that. "Yes, you can give me a present." I vow that whatever she gives to me will be my token.

She takes out her hair clip and messily puts it in my hair. "There, you look pretty," she says, smiling.

I feel a lump starting to form in my throat, but I swallow it down harshly. I can't let the cameras see that I was crying.

"Thank you so much, Dethet. I promise I will keep it in every second that I'm gone."

The Peacekeepers come over and tap Dethet on the shoulder. "Miss, you have to go now."

She pouts and sits on my lap. "I don't wanna go!"

I don't want the Peacekeepers to hurt her, so I gently say to her, "Dethet, it's time to go now, okay?"

The pout doesn't leave her face. "Fine."

She marches proudly out the door.

My parents come next, with Mom carrying 7.

"Good luck, Ori," she says softly, in that worn-out way that she talks. "I hope that you win. I really do."

My dad snorts. "No need for good luck, our Ori will win out of her skill!"

My mom smiles weakly. "Of course she will."

I try to ignore them and focus on preserving the look on Dethet's face when she gave me her hair clip into my mind. So caring, so thoughtful….so innocent.

A thought springs into my mind.

"Dad, can you leave?" I say.

"What?" he's confused.

"Can you please leave? You can come back after, I want some alone time with my mother." A lie.

"Well….okay…" he says slowly, and walks out the door.

My mom looks confused. "What was that about? I mean, I would love it if you want alone time with me, but…" she trails off, but I know what she's going to say. She'd be surprised if that was the real reason.

"Mom, I need to ask you a favor."

"Anything, dear."

I wince at her use of the pet name. "Don't let Dethet watch, okay?"

She immediately knows what I mean, and why. "Of course," she said gently. "I won't let her watch."

"Thanks."

We sit in silence for a moment or two. Then the Peacekeeper comes.

"Miss Skipvine? The train's waiting."

I nod and get up. My mom gives me a hug, and I awkwardly hug her back.

As I walk towards the train, it seems like every step I take, I'm turning more into Career Ori and less of the sappy Ori that was saying her goodbyes.

I'm morphing into a winner.

More than a winner. I'm morphing into a _victor._

**Well, there you have it! Our first two tributes! I know that there isn't Speck's POV in this, but there will be on with him later on, don't worry! I really want to get through the reapings, so I'm going to choose randomly which tribute's POV I'm writing from, and the other one will get a POV later. Some may have both tribute's POVs, but most will only have one's. I know this is confusing, but bear with me.**

**Also! I've been spreading word about demigodgirl1000's petition to legalize SYOTs and all Submit Your Own Character stories. I know that tons of people had your SYOTs taken down, myself included, as this very own SYOT was removed by the FanFiction admins. Go to her profile and sign the petition! Thank you so much!**

**R&R!**

**~MyrtleFalls**


	4. District 2 Reapings

**District 2 reapings! Two more fantastic characters to read about! I couldn't decide which character's POV to write in, so you have short POVs by them both. Our girl was submitted by XTurtleInstictX and our boy by Chaos in Her Wake. **

District 2: Sierra-Grace Soro

I've been up all night. I suppose I should be tired, but I'm not in the slightest. The adrenaline that pumps through me with every swing of my sword, every time I draw my arm back to throw the knife, every time I hear the _rii-ip! _of the dummy's swing as my blade punctures it fills me with joy and exhilaration.

I can almost imagine I'm already in the Games. I can imagine every dummy as an opponent, a weakling from 8, a mountain from 12, a fellow Career.

I can imagine myself slaying them all. Their blood dyes my blade red, and drops spray off it as I bring it around for another slice. Again and again. I pretend to dodge a blow to my left, then counterparry and finish with a stab in the neck. Dead.

The weakling attempts to run away. I grab a throwing knife from the sheathes on my belt, and throw with deadly accuracy. It hits her on the back of her head. I can hear her cannon boom. Dead.

The boy from 12 tries to sneak up from behind me and finish me off with a spear. I break the spear in half with one clean slice of my sword. As he lunges with a knife, I duck nimbly to the side and whirl around to face his back. He's slow. Before he can turn around and continue his assault, I stab him in the back and he face-plants onto the grass. Dead.

But as I break out of my reverie, I scowl disappointedly as my foes disappear. My blade's red paint fades until they are back in their gleaming condition. The grass sinks into the ground, leaving the basement/training center of my house.

And then, I am alone in a room filled with tattered dummies. I am not a victor anymore, simply a Career.

I scowl and pick up my blades. As I begin on an already-destroyed dummy, I can see the gold glint of the Cornucopia on the horizon again. The grass springs up. The dummies morph into people, moving with their own blades to attack me.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

I am stronger than them all. None of them can defeat me. I am a mass of whirling blades, ferocity, rage and joy and adrenaline. I am death. And I am so, so happy.

The sun gradually peeks out from behind the mountains of District 2. The light seeps through even though I am in the basement. The room lightens, and I can see it for what it is.

Reaping day.

My fantasies are beginning to come real. Today, in a few weeks, I will be in the arena. I will dominate. I will not lose. I will destroy my enemies and come home a victor.

I snarl at the sun and continue training. Duck, dodge, stab. Dead. Sidestep, parry, unbalance, slice. Dead. Again. Again. Again. I lose track of how many I kill, how much time has passed.

I want to keep training, but the afternoon sun and my mind say that it is time to get ready. Training can wait.

I quickly brush out my hair and fix my right-sided braid I wear my black hair in. I don't bother with frilly dresses like the other girls in my district do. They're impractical and look ridiculous. Instead, I wear my training outfit to the reapings: a black long-sleeved shirt with a black vest and black jeans. It's a lot of black, but it serves to make me look intimidating, and combined with my cold blue eyes and pale skin, I look like something out of a nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, I run up the stairs. They're both awake, my father and my younger sister. I can hear them moving around upstairs, my father's loud steps and Lily-Marie's soft steps. I briefly remember when our house was full, bustling with my mother, grandmother, and three other siblings. But I shove that out of my mind.

I don't like to gloat about my kills.

I can hear the creak of the stairs as Lily-Marie begins walking down the stairs. I don't want to deal with anyone at the moment. My waking dreams of the arena are still fresh in my mind, and I want to keep them.

I grab a granola bar and sprint towards the door. But just as I open it, I hear Lily-Marie's question.

"Where are you going?" her blue eyes, just like my own, glitter calculatingly as she looks me over.

"To the reapings."

"They don't start for another hour. You know that."

"Then I'm going out." I say, annoyed.

"Fine." says Lily-Marie, but I know that she knows that I just don't want to be around my family at the moment. I don't work as a team.

I slip out the door without a goodbye.

The air in District 2 always has a perpetual grittiness to it, with the rock dust from the mines blowing over the city. In the poorer areas of town, you can see little piles of sand from where it hasn't been cleaned. District 2, although much nicer than any of the lower Districts, isn't paradise in some places. Actually, it's not paradise anywhere, at least for me. The arena is my paradise.

I meander around the district without setting any real place for me to be heading to. I turn corners and walk down side streets without thinking. Soon, I reach the edge of the district. A few stunted trees grow around here, and I decide it's as good as a place to stop as any. Realizing that I still have my belt of knives on, I carve a target into the wood of one of the trees, then step back. I throw a knife, and watch it spin end over end until it hits solidly into the center of the target.

I smirk contentedly.

Idly, I toss a few more knives, but there's none of that breathless exhilaration of last night's training. Just boredom.

I toss knives, occasionally getting up to retrieve them from the wood when I run out, until the sun is high in the sky. 12 o'clock. Time for the reapings.

I gather my knives again. I know I can't take them with me to the Capitol, but I feel reassured with my knives strapped to my belt.

I walk back the way I came, remembering each step. But I walked a long way, and soon I'm sprinting to get to the reapings on time.

I don't bother to check in as I rush to the fifteen-year olds section. I've missed the Treaty of Treason and announcement of the previous victors. The escort this year a slightly-normal looking woman with…pink? eyes and black hair. Or is it blonde? I can't tell; it seems to be constantly changing. I missed her name, and don't necessarily care, either. I mentally name her Pinky.

Pinky totters over to the girl's reaping bowl on ridiculously high heels and calls out in a high-pitched voice, "Ladies first!"

She swishes a manicured hand through the bowl, and plucks out a name. I don't care who it is, I'm volunteering nonetheless.

"Sierra-Grace Soro!"

"I-" I cut myself off before I can finish my statement. That was my name. She called _my _name.

Crud. Now some idiot's going to volunteer for me.

I cast glares through the crowds as I pass them, making my way to the stage. I don't want anybody to volunteer for me.

A girl in the sixteen section begins to raise her hand. _No no no no I'm going into the Games, not her!_

"I volunteer!"she cries smoothly, and begins to make her way to the stage.

This. Can't. Happen.

Before I even know what I'm doing, there's a knife in my hand and I'm throwing it with the same deadly accuracy as I used earlier when I was throwing at the trees, but that same beautiful adrenaline races through me, like lightning coursing through my veins as it did in my waking dreams.

It catches her in the throat, and she vanishes into the crowd as she falls.

This time, the death is real.

I grin. It feels wonderful. "Any more volunteers?" I ask sweetly.

No one moves.

"Good."

Pinky seems shaken by my casual murder. "Well!" she pipes, trembling in her high-heels. "Here's to Sierra-Grace Soro!"

No one claps.

I glare and finger a knife.

The crowd bursts into applause.

There. Much better.

District 2: Mercury Balt

That girl must be insane. She just killed that volunteer. I clap along with everyone else. I'm ashamed to admit it, but she scares me. Something in her eyes, that glint of assuredness, like she's already got this in the bag, is terrifying.

And she's going to be my district partner. I decided to volunteer this year.

My family and I are from the poor section of District 2. I decided to volunteer to carry on the tradition of the Careers, but I'll admit it: the money is an incentive as well.

I clap along with everyone else for Sierra, but it's unwilling. Like the rest of them, I'm afraid that if I don't, her next knife will be coming towards me. I can imagine her killing us all: she'd knife a Peacekeeper and grab his gun. Then, after killing the rest of the Peacekeepers, she'd mow us down.

It's an unrealistic fantasy, but I don't put it past the ghostly-looking girl onstage.

After the applause dies down, the escort, Precious, walks over to the boy's reaping ball.

"Well, I hope our boy will be just as much as a competitor as our girl!" she cries in a forced cheery voice.

She quickly draws a slip, not wanting to prolong the reapings any longer.

"Granite Fenea!"

I raise my hand. "I volunteer!"

I start walking to the stage, half-expecting to see a knife coming towards me. But Sierra just smiles this sick smile, as if she's saying _"He's nothing. I can take him down with one hand behind my back."_

Well, I'll give her one heck of a fight.

"Let's have some more applause for the District 2 tributes!" Precious shrieks.

The crowd cheers and claps, but she doesn't make an effort to prolong it. Without telling us to shake hands, she rushes us offstage to the Justice Building, and then hurries off in the direction of the train station.

It's funny: she draws the names of who will die, she cheers as she watches The Hunger Games from a television screen, but the minute she sees a murder right in front of her eyes, she is terrified.

Typical Capitolian.

The first thing the Peacekeepers do as they reach us is take away Sierra-Grace's knives. She's obviously upset about this, but her feelings change to annoyance and outrage as they subject her to a pat-down.

Once they're satisfied that she has no hidden weapons, they allow her to continue to the visiting rooms. She stalks into the Justice Building in irritation.

I walk calmly in. I prepare myself not to cry, no matter what. The cameras can't see me with a red face and puffy eyes, especially with a district partner like Sierra.

I sit down on the couch and wait for my visitors.

My parents come first.

My dad encourages me, tells me that I'll be sure to win. But I can see the worry in his eyes, the fear.

"It's alright, Dad," I assure him. "I'll come back, don't you worry."

He sharply nods. "Of course. I never doubted you."

But he is. It weighs on my heart. He knows I might return from the Capitol, not alive, but in a wooden box.

He looks at the Peacekeeper, who is gesturing for him to leave. "Well. Goodbye, son. Good luck."

"Bye, Dad."

He glances back once over his shoulder as he leaves, and I give him an encouraging smile.

He smiles weakly back before leaving.

My mom comes in next. She's upset.

"Mercury, you hear me good and clear now, okay?"

I nod.

"You better come back, or I swear I will track down your ghost and personally kill you."

I force a laugh, not because it's a dark joke, but because it's a bad one.

"Okay, Mom."

She narrows her eyes. "Good. Because I'm not going to allow my son to die from idiot Capitolian game." she spits on the floor. "The rebellion never should have gone this way. It should have worked…"

Before she goes off on one of her rants and gets herself killed, I stop her. She was a die-hard rebel support her. She nearly died countless times in the election riots. "It's okay." I reassure her. "Everything is going to be fine. I'll win, and we'll all be filthy rich and live in Victor's Village."

"Is this what this is all about? You're going to waste your life for _money?_ Sweetie, we don't need money. We're fine, financially and otherwise."

She's lying. She knows we're not steady financially, and I know that we're not steady otherwise. Tale, my little brother, joined a street gang in attempts to get money. I'm constantly worrying about him. I work an extra shift at the mines. We're constantly hungry. I bet we're no better off than the people in District 12.

"It's not just about money, Mom. It's…it's…" I struggle to find a way to explain.

Her face softens. "I believe in you." She slips something into my hand and leaves.

I look down. It's a scrap of cloth, but I'd recognize it anywhere. It's from my mom's oldest, most prized dress.

I grip it tightly for a second, then stuff it into my pocket.

My gang of friends pour in next. Kufre, Havoc, and Vash all surround me. Kufre peppers me with questions.

"Are you going to be all right? Do you think that you'll win? Well, you must think so if you volunteered….I don't want you to die! Please don't die, okay? And if you do die, don't die in a wimpy way. Die in an epic way, or at the very least a dramatic way. Okay? But it would be much better if you didn't die at all. Unless you want to die. Oh my gosh, have you gone suicidal! That would be horrible! So don't be. At the very least, if you are, stop being suicidal. Okay?" Kufre's afro is bobbing like crazy as she speaks.

When she takes a breath, I interrupt. "Kufre, calm down. I think I can win. If I die, I'll try to die in a dramatic and or epic way, but no promises. And I have not gone suicidal."

"Okay, good, but what if you're in denial? Or if you're lying….but you don't lie, I think. Do you lie? I bet you lie sometime. I think everyone lies sometime. In fact-"

This time, Havoc stops her. "Kufre. Stop speaking so quickly and so much."

She nods empathetically.

"Okay. Now the rest of us can speak, huh?" he grins.

"So, man," he says, sitting next to me and patting me on the back. "You are going to kick some butt for us, okay? And then, you're going to come back to us, alive and preferably in one piece. Got it?"

"I hope."

"No, not any measly _I hopes. _Let's get a "Yes sir!""

I roll my eyes. "Yes, sir." I say dryly.

"Good job! Now, good luck, and win the Hunger Games!"

I smile. "All right."

He stands up and stretches. "Then my work here is done. Bye, Mercury."

"Bye, Havoc."

Havoc strides out of the room.

Kufre gives me an attack hug. "Win, live but if you need to die, die in an epic way, and don't forget us."

I escape from her smothering hug. "I would never forget you."

She smiles. "Great. Good luck!" she leaves the room.

That leaves me and Vash, who hasn't said a word the entire time. Vash is quiet, content in silence. But you can tell that she's analyzing everything, taking everything in.

"I didn't think you would do it," she said quietly.

"Well, I guess I did."

"Why?"

"Well…I felt like I had to. I trained all this time, and I felt like if I didn't volunteer, it would be for nothing. And I thought that I might as well continue the tradition of the Careers, you know? And…well….we need the money."

"Is your life nothing? The Careers can stop, for all I care. The Careers don't need to have you in them. And I think that we all agree that you're worth more than any money."

"Vash…" I begin to feel uncomfortable.

Her eyes cloud up. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you."

I'm shocked. "Oh…"

She looks away. "I didn't think that you would like me back anyway. But I thought you should know."

"No, Vash, it's not like that…"

I don't know what to do. But all of the sudden, we're kissing.

It's over just as soon as it started. "Bye, Mercury. Win for me, okay?" she asks.

"Of course, Vash."

"I love you."

She walks out of the door.

It's hard for me to comprehend that it's likely that I'll never see any of them again.

**Well, there you have it! The Wolf Huntress, I'm sorry if Mercury is a little OOC. I have a hard time writing his character, but I think I managed to pull it off to an extent.**

**How do you like the D2 tributes? Love 'em? Hate 'em? Review and tell me!**

**~Myrtle**


	5. District 3 Reapings

**I'm back, with the District 3 reapings! I know this is out of order, but there was a reason for it which I believe I explained last chapter. Thanks to demigodgirl1000 for Sever and Rainbow unicorns on squish for Sheabelle.**

**OMTL, I am so sorry this was so late! I had all the way to goodbyes done two weeks ago, and I had just been too busy to finish it! That, and the fact that my laptop, Marzie, finally gave out on me and died once and for all, (which MAY have been sped along by the fact that I dropped it on hardwood…) and so I lost my outline for this story and also a place to type.**

**But over with the excuses. May I present, District 3.**

District 3: Sever Cinder

I quickly look over to my experiment, which has begun to fizz over slightly, then scribble some notes on a piece of paper. Carefully, I add three drops of liquid nitrogen.

The experiment bubbles and froths over, and I jump back in alarm. I grab as many of the papers off the floor as I can, but the chemicals reach one of the sheets, thankfully blank, and the paper dissolves.

I hop up onto a bed to get away from the flow of acid. Quickly, I wrote down the outcome on some of the salvaged paper.

_The second blend of chemicals has a desirable outcome. It has produced an corrosive acid, as I suspected. It seems to have no effect on wood, but the acid can disintegrate paper. If I add more liquid nitrogen, I believe it could possibly have a similar effect on wood, and in large quantities, possibly on metal._

Satisfied for now, I store my notes away. I can transfer them to the walls later, after the reapings. Glancing around at my room, I frown. I guess I'll have to transfer them to the ceiling. My walls are already full of notes and theorems.

My attention is drawn to the next problem: the pool of acid on my floor. I grab a towel and try to soak it up that way, but the towel dissolves as well. I frown. Cleaning this up is going to be a bigger problem than I thought. Maybe I can evaporate it…?

But just as I am bringing out the heat lamp, Dasher, my younger brother, comes into the room. He's about to step in the puddle when he notices and stops short.

"Another experiment?" he questions good-naturedly.

"Yeah, it overflowed a little."

Dasher glances at the spreading puddle. "A little, huh? Well, anyway, Mom says that you have to get ready for the reapings. It's almost noon."

I nod.

"Mom _also _says that if you aren't ready in ten minutes, she'll leave without you."

I shrug. "I doubt she will, but okay."

With one last glance at the spill, Dasher leaves the room.

Sighing, I put the heat lamp aside. Carefully walking around the slightly-smoking puddle, I make my way to my wardrobe. I don't worry over what to wear: I only have one fancy outfit, which is a plain tuxedo. After putting that on, I put on white gloves.

If I get reaped, I don't want everyone freaking out about the fact that I'm half machine.

Well, technically, I just have two robotic appendages: my arm and my leg on my right side. When I was fifteen, there was an explosion at the factory my father worked at. I was fixing some machines when alarms started to go off. My dad told me to go outside, to wait until it was over, just in case…

And then it exploded. And when I woke up, my arm and my leg were gone, amputated because of severe burns that turned my limbs into charcoal.

My sister, Karma, made the appendages from bits of metal she snitched from her factory. After she finished making it, though, she was caught. She's in prison, now, for "treason against the Capitol."

Like stealing is such a heinous crime compared to all the things that happened in the riots. If all those people were imprisoned for "treason against the Capitol," the cells would be full to bursting. But of course, the Capitol is so _kind and generous _to give all those people pardons, while _lowly thieves _like Karma get tossed in jail.

It sickens me, the Capitol. It's a kingdom of idiots, with cruel persons not so much officials as puppeteers, controlling how the Capitol thinks.

And they rule us. Idiots and puppeteers control us.

Lovely.

I finish with the tuxedo and carefully arrange the heat lamp over the spill. Some steam starts to rise from it, so I can only assume that it's working. Hopefully, it won't turn into some noxious gas.

Walking out of my room, I see that I was right; Mom has not fulfilled her threat.

"Hurry up! We have to go!" she cries, ushering us out the door.

Dasher and I follow her dutifully, like a little brood of chicks following the mother duck. Her fast walking pace gets us to the town square in soon, and it's in sight in no time.

I'm not focused on the stage, though, I'm more interested on a lifting mechanism that's being used on a construction site a few yards away.

"Mom, I'll be right there, okay?" I say, and run over to the site.

The lifting mechanism appears to actually be almost like a smaller version of the lifters used on hovercraft. I pull a pen and piece of paper out of my pocket and scribble down the basic blueprints of the lifter. It's quite ingenious, actually. After the reapings I'll have to take a closer look at it.

I can hear the reapings starting in the square, and I run in, checking in with the Peacekeeper as quickly as possible.

The Treaty of Treason has just finished by the time I get there, and the escort is in the spotlight now.

"Hello, District 3. I expect that whoever I draw from this ball should win, not like those weaklings last time. Seriously? They were _victors, _and only one survived. Pathetic. And the year before _that, _neither made it! One was a bloodbath!"

He glares at the crowd, which although I suppose is supposed to be intimidating, is only funny, as his skin is a bright, hot pink. I can't help but to laugh a bit. I do wonder, though, how do they dye their skin? Maybe they inject it, as a surface dye would wear off…but how would it spread? Unless it was like a full-body tattoo, but that would be painful, and then it wouldn't be as widespread as a fashion statement….but then again, it is the Capitol. Who knows? I make a note to ask him.

The escort finishes his rant about he expects for there to be a victor from Three this year. He scowls.

"And if you really need to know, my name is Happy Face."

I burst out laughing, as does most of the crowd.

"It's not funny!" he yells. "I had no say in the matter whatsoever!"

This only makes the crowd laugh even more.

He glowers and stops over to the closest reaping ball, the boy's.

I stiffen a little, as do the other boys.

The laughing stops.

He sticks his hand in and pulls out a slip.

"SEVER CINDER!" he declares in a loud voice.

What?

I freeze.

This isn't possible…I didn't take out tesserae. My mind races, trying to figure out the possibility of my name being called.

Approximately 9,000 citizens…..about half is kids, 4,500….if all the ages have an equal amount of people, 0.63 of them are eligible…that's 2,385 children eligible….if half of them are boys, then there's 1192 of them who have their names in the bowl. Not including the advancing-by-age factor, or boys who do take out tesserae….

Even then, I have a .005% of being chosen.

So I have _less _then .005% chance.

But I got chosen…

Someone is pushing me forwards. I stumble up to the stage, repeating that figure over and over.

_.005%..._

_.005%..._

_**.005%**_

Happy Face glares at me. "Hmm. Doesn't live up to the promise of his name. At least he'll _sound _intimidating…"

I ignore him.

.005%

Less than .005%.

I still can't wrap my mind around that.

Happy groans and walks over to the girl's reaping ball. "Maybe this one will be more victor quality," he snarks.

He pulls a name out of the glass.

"SHEABELLE DAVIDSON!"

A pale, blonde girl walks up shakily. Was this how I looked when I came up? I hope not. Her face looks like she's trying to be stony faced, but she's trembling and her eyes are puffy. Definitely not stony.

She's actually a tad on the pudgy side, which is unusual. Even though District Three is much better off than many of the other Districts, it's still pretty rare to see someone who's on the overweight side.

It's probably just her metabolism or something, but I'll have to ask. I understand quite well that it's a rude question, but I'm curious, and when I'm curious, nothing is going to stop me from asking.

"Any volunteers for either of them?" Happy asks.

No one comes up, as expected.

Logic really sucks, sometimes, because it has this way of shoving hope to the back of your mind.

Maybe it's not like for all people, but it is for me.

"Well, then District Three, your two, definitely not victor material, sorry to say, tributes!"

We shake hands. I note that hers is shaky.

Is mine? I quickly check, it isn't. Good.

As we're led into the visiting rooms, I wonder why I'm not crying or upset. I am going into the Hunger Games, after all.

I decide that it just hasn't sunk in yet. It feels unreal, sort of like a dream.

I look around my surroundings. Is it a dream? It would make sense…no, it isn't. It doesn't have that dream-like quality. Plus, it's only when you're awake that you wonder if you're dreaming. When you are dreaming, many things are completely unreal, but because you're dreaming, it feels completely natural. That's the difference between dreams and real life, I decide. In dreams, unreal things seem real. In real life, unreal things seem unreal.

I smile, pleased with myself and my discovery. It's rather philosophical, I think, something I don't ponder often, so it's nice to discover something in that area.

My smile drops when Dasher comes in, though, looking aghast and sorrowful but sadly and shockingly-utterly defeated. Mom's with him, and she's openly crying. I don't think I've ever seen her cry before this, except when Dad died.

It's sinking in now…

I'm going to my death. She's crying because I may as well already be dead.

I'm never going to see Dasher or Mom again.

Karma will never see me again, and I will never see her, because prisoners aren't allowed to come to reapings, and they're not allowed to visit people even if they did know who got reaped.

I'm probably going to kill people.

And everyone's going to find out that I'm half metal, which is the least of my concerns, but is still worrisome.

We don't say much, my family and I. We mostly just hug and cry and try to savor what is most likely the last time we'll see each other.

I don't cry, though. I want to, the knot in my throat is begging me to. But in my mind, I know that this game is one that has to be played out logically. And logically, if I cry, the Capitolians, my potential sponsors, will think I'm weak, and I'll lose them.

And more than anything, I want to come back alive.

Mom and Dasher sniff some more and give me a last long, lingering hug. Dasher takes a deep breath and thrusts something into my hand. I look at it. It's a metal battery, the type I use for my limbs, and tied to a string to look like a pendant.

"I thought that you might need this," Dasher chokes out. "Just in case it runs out, you know?" he attempts a smile and fails. I do the same.

"Thanks, Dasher."

"Yeah, no problem," he says weakly, before bursting into tears again.

The Peacekeepers signal for them to leave, but they stay by my side. I don't push them away. I want them to stay as long as possible, just to be in their presence and know that I'm safe.

The Peacekeepers come over and grab Dasher and Mom and start forcing them out the doors.

"I love you!" Mom cries as the Peacekeepers push her away. "Remember that, Sever! Always remember-"

Her voice is cut off as they make her leave the room, but I can faintly hear the end of the sentence.

_That I love you._

I take a deep breath as a shudder of a sob wracks my body: my mind screaming for me to cry.

I steady myself and wait for my next visitors.

My friends come next. The whole thing seems to flash by so quickly: Keener, Skene, and Sparx: three people who used to be Karma's friends, and are now mine, offering me encouragement through their obvious layers of worry; Trine, my study partner, crying as she walks in, sobbing about how she'll miss me when I'm dead and how she'll miss our conversations in the library. It's a bit depressing how she assumes that I'll die, but I can't blame her. I'm leaning towards assuming the same. Pivot is next: the only person besides my direct family who knows about my metal appendages. He tells me all about how I'll be sure to win, and offers strategies weakly. I've already thought of all of them, but that doesn't matter. It's the thought that counts, right?

Once they leave, I simply sit.

Sit and think.

It always comes down to this in the end.

**Here it is!**

**Finished!**

**Amazing!**

**So, reviews?**

**Please?**

**They would be greatly appreciated.**

**So R&R!**

**~Myrtle**


	6. District 4 Reapings

**So! Normally, of course, District 3 would follow District 2. But, because of annoying laptops, *glares pointedly at laptop* I can't download the document on which I had started writing the D3 reapings. And since I was traveling and had spotty wifi, I didn't figure that out until today. That's why there's been no more updates. I apologize, though, and I promise that updates will be much quicker from here on.**

**I will also be posting the tribute list, so you can follow things.**

**So, D4 reapings~**

District Four: Caristonia Lucien

I wake up to the cries of the early morning seagulls circling around the beach where Edge and I had decided to stay for the night. The ancient-looking log of driftwood provided shelter from the wind, and I'll take the warm sand of the beach over a dirty street anyday.

I carefully stand up, not wanting to wake Edge. He's not related to me in any way, but I consider him my brother. He's all the family I've had for the past thirteen years.

The sea breeze whips my hair into a tangled mess behind me as I gaze out into the sea. It's beautiful today, blue-green like my eyes, the waves crashing against the beach. I can see a few fishing boats bobbing in the surf.

Sparkling, breathtaking, and deadly.

The sea took my parents thirteen years ago. They were fishermen, like so many other District Four adults. I was four when it happened. They were out at sea in their little boat when a sudden squall came on. No one could take a boat out to rescue them, and by the time the storm cleared, their boat was gone, taking my parents with it.

I had been relocated to the community home, but I detested the matrons and the sad faces of the other children. I couldn't stand it. So one day, I slipped out and took to the streets. I went around, asking people if they knew where my parents were. I remember their faces: they all smiled and shook their heads, pitying me. They would direct me to the community home, and I would run off again.

Then I met Edge. He was only ten, then, but he took me in. He was homeless, just like I was. He showed me how to fish for food, how to avoid adults, lest you risk being marched off by Peacekeepers to the Home. He became my family.

I walk along the surf, letting the waves wash the sand from my feet. Gradually, I wade in, shivering as the freezing water washes over me. I scrub the sand off myself and brush my curly red hair with my fingers. I can't see my reflection in the tumbling water, but I can only hope that I look semi presentable for the reapings.

The reapings. The Games. They are only two words each, but they chill my heart. How could someone be so cruel as to do this, let alone reinstate it after we thought they were gone for good. It's like giving someone a false hope. It _is _giving people a false hope.

And now it's gone.

Finished with my 'bath,' I walk out of the ocean, clothes dripping wet. Normally, I wouldn't mind, and I would let the sun dry my clothes while I wore them, but I can't do that today. The reapings are in the morning in District Four, so I have to break out my only other pair of clothes.

It's nice enough, Edge bought it for me as a birthday present when I was twelve. He got it from a secondhand shop, and it was much too large for me then, but I've grown into it so it fits me perfectly now. It's a white sundress, faded and patched in some places, but it's better than my regular t-shirt and sweatpants.

Ducking behind a rock, I change into the sundress. My feet are bare.

Once I'm done changing, I walk over to Edge.

"Edge. Hey, Edge, it's time to wake up."

He opens his eyes blearily. "Hey, Christie."

"Edge, you have to wake up. It's the reapings."

His mind is obviously still muddled by sleep, because he protests, "I'm twenty-three. I don't have to go to the reapings anymore."

"Edge, I have to go."

He sits up straight, suddenly awake. His eyes turn a steely gray. "Yeah. They started the reapings again."

"It's going to start in a half hour. You have to get ready."

He staggered to his feet. "Right." he stood up and brushed the sand off himself and rubbed the sand out of his hair. He now looks mildly presentable, but his hair is standing up straight with sand and salt. I laugh and smooth it down.

He grins. "Sometimes I feel like you're taking care of me, not the other way around."

I blush. "You take care of me. I'm just returning the favor, that's all."

He smooths out his clothes a bit. "Come on. I know the reapings are in a half hour, but we can get there early, right?"

"Yep."

We walk off the beach and onto the streets. The cobblestones are uncomfortable on my bare feet, but I've walked barefoot for so long, callouses have built up and I hardly feel the pebbles.

The stage has been erected and they are beginning to drape it with blue, green, and purple ribbons to represent the sea. The escort is running around in earnest, but he's not really doing anything. His hair is lime green and spiked up in a mohawk that looks like it makes up at least half of his height.

A couple stage hands are erecting the microphone onto the stage, while another one is struggling erecting the stairs that lead up to the stage.

"I'm going to run over and help them with the stairs, okay?"

"Okay, just stay where I can see you."

I look at him slightly reproachfully. "Okay, but I can take care of myself, you know. I'm seventeen, after all."

He mock-glares at me. "Fine."

I rush over to the helper. "Do you need any help with those stairs?"

He looks over at me. "If you could just straighten that bar at the side, do you see it?"

I nodded.

"Just press that in so it's straight. Otherwise, the stairs will collapse."

I wriggled my hand into the opening and pressed it down while he held the stairs in place. I can hear tumblers falling into place, and the stairs shudder slightly as they straighten out.

He relaxes. "That's good. Thanks for your help, girl. What's your name?"

"Christie. You?"

"Morant."

I hold out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Morant."

He shakes it. "You too."

A Peacekeeper calls for him to get back to work. Morant scowls slightly, but he comes over to help with the white cloth that will cover the stage.

I follow him.

He glances over his shoulder. "Do I have a shadow?" he asks in a teasing voice.

"I guess. I'm here early and have nothing better to do, so I figured I'd lend a hand."

He smiles. "Thanks, Christie. I appriciate the help."

For the next half hour, I follow Morant around, doing odd jobs, from painting the stage District Four's designated sea foam green to helping the escort find his hair spray.

When the crowds start to flood in, I say goodbye to Morant. He wishes me luck and we part ways.

I check in with a Peacekeeper, then head to the Seventeens section. Some of the girls shy away from me: they recognize me as the homeless girl. I ignore them, although their words do sting.

Mayor Clarae mounts the stage, her black hair, streaked with gray, held back in a tight bun. In a stiff voice, she reads the now slightly-changed Treaty of Treason.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," she finishes.

She exits the stage and the green-haired escort mounts the stage. There are a few giggles about his hair from the younger kids, and even more once he starts talking.

"!"

I could barely understand him. I had seen him running around all day, but I didn't think that he would be as fast-paced as his walking, if you could call it walking.

"Okaylet''sHungerGames!"

Raldy scampered over to the girl's reaping ball. My breath caught in my throat. I had taken out tesserae for Edge and I. I didn't know the exact number of slips, but I knew it was many more than the other girls in our District.

"Ladiesfirst!"

His hand dipped in and out of the bowl so quickly, that if I blinked, I would have missed it.

"CARISTONIALUCIEN!"

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel the color drain from my face. Was that really the name he just called? I must have heard him wrong.

"Caristonia? Canyoucomeuphere?"

I stumble up to the stage. Raldy looks pleased.

"OhIknowyou! Youfoundmyhairspray!"

I blush and duck my head. Maybe some hairspray-loving Capitolians will sponsor me...?

Wait. If there's a volunteer, I don't have to go into the Games! I'll be safe!

I cross my fingers. Please, let there be a volunteer!

"? Anyone? Novolunteers? Okay! Let'!"

There was hardly a pause at all between the sentences. Barely any time for a volunteer to step up. But if there had been a volunteer, they would have.

My heart sank.

I can't believe it.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

But if I'm going in, I'm going in as myself.

"Can I say something?"

"Sureokay!"

I grab the microphone. "My name is Christie Lucien. Never Caristonia."

District Four: Shadow Lipinskii

The escort is insane looking and has a peppy attitude to match, as usual. He has a stranger hairstyle than most, and I must give him credit for uniqueness to some extent for that. But other than that, he's pretty much the normal, detestable Capitolian.

"Ladiesfirst!" he pipes.

My shoulders stiffen. Please, not her. Please, anyone but her...

He picks a name.

"CARISTONIALUCIEN!"

I relax. It's not her. Now all I have to worry about is myself.

The escort keeps calling the poor girl's name.

Finally, I see a movement from the other side, the girl's side, of the Seventeen's girl must be coming up to the stage, finally.

She walks up, and I look up boredly.

I freeze.

It is her.

It's Christie, standing up there on that stage. That killer stage. Christie.

All I can think is that I never knew that her full name was Caristonia.

"? Anyone?"

Volunteers. Please, someone, volunteer for Christie. Please.

"Novolunteers? Okay! Let'!"

No. My Christie can't be going into the Games. Those cold, ruthless Games...it would crush a girl like her.

Kill a girl like her.

"Nowit'stimefortheboys!"

The boy...maybe I could tell him, whoever it is, how important she is to me. How he has to protect her.

"FROSTNOMEIN!"

A boy with blonde hair climbs up to the stage. Probably where he got his name.

I look him over. Would he protect Christie?

Would I, if asked, protect a girl with my life, just because her boyfriend asked me?

I knew the answer.

I raise my hand into the air.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

Frost steps down from the stage and I hurry up. Christie's eyes widen slightly. I think she recognizes me.

"Andwhatmightyournamebe?"

"Shadow. Shadow Lipinskii."

"Well,!"

The crowd applauds, but it sounds fake.

All I can think is that I will protect her with my life.

I can do, I _will _do, what Frost never could.

I will make sure Christie is the victor.

District Four: Caristonia Lucien

Edge is my first visitor, as I expected. In fact, I expect him to be my only visitor.

He rushes over to me, and I can see him crying. I'm shocked. Even when he was ten, living on his own, I have never seen him cry.

He cries silently for a little while. I sit there, shocked, and I can feel tears starting to form in my own eyes. I blink rapidly.

"Christie..." he says, a little clogged up. "I can't...I don't...how do I say this..."

I wrap my arms around his neck reassuringly.

"It's okay, Edge. I'll be okay, don't you worry."

"No, Christie." he pulls back angrily. "What if you don't come back? Christie..." fresh tears bloom in his eyes, "What if you...die?"

I swallow hard. "Let's not think about that, okay? And if I do...don't worry about me. I'll be fine..."

Edge is still crying. "Christie, I love you. You've always felt like the sister I never had." he sniffles a little. "I was going to give this to you for your birthday, but I had it made early."

He presses something into my hand. I look at it, and tears start rolling down my cheeks. I can't help it.

It's a silver locket. It must have cost a fortune. It's beautiful, absolutley beautiful. Gleaming silver, with a complex twisting engraving on the front.

"Open it," he says quietly.

I do. I recognize the picture on the inside, and I bury my face in Edge's shoulder and cry.

The picture is the only one we have ever taken together. The only time we have our pictures taken is in school. To save money, the District Four school takes family pictures, so they can use less paper and less ink. Edge and I were only together in school for one year, so there was only one picture we ever took together. We both look much younger than we do now: Edge is eighteen, and I am twelve. I never knew that he bought a copy.

"Oh, Edge," I sob. "Thank you so much."

"Only the best for my Christie," he replies, which makes me cry even more.

We sit there, crying into each other's shoulders. It's quiet and comforting, in a way.

The Peacekeeper signals that it's time to leave.

Edge gets up, his eyes red. "Goodbye, Christie. I love you."

"I love you too, Edge."

It's hard to see him go, because I know that that picture of him, red-eyed and crying, might be the last time I'll ever see him.

After he leaves, I sit on the couch and try to regain my composure. I doubt I'll have any more visitors, but I want to look strong for the cameras.

But lo and behold, the door opens, and another person comes in.

It's Morant. I look up at him, surprised he cared enough to come and visit me.

"Hey, Christie."

"Hey, Morant."

We sit in silence for awhile, acutely aware that we are really strangers, for the most part.

"I want you to know that I'll be rooting for you, all the way."

This simple phrase, the simple act of kindness of him coming here, nearly makes me cry again.

"Thank you, Morant. Thanks so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

He smiles, but there's sorrow lurking behind it.

"You know," he said, "before the rebellion started, I had a daughter who went into the Games." he smiled sadly. "She was so confident. She thought she would win. I thought she would, too. I encouraged her. And then, a boy from seven came out as victor."

I was surprised. You didn't really think about the familes of the losers. You think about how sad they must be, but you don't think about who they are. Who they might be.

Morant looked a little awkward. "Anyway. I guess that's not very confidence inspiring, but..." he smiled sheepishly.

"It's okay. I understand what you were trying to get across."

He nodded. "Good." he stood up to leave.

"Good luck, Christie."

"Thanks, Morant."

He left the tent.

No one else came to visit.

When the escort came to hurry us to the train, I didn't do anything. Didn't acknowledge the boy whose life I'd once saved. Didn't look up from the ground.

Didn't show the cameras my tear-streaked face.

**Well, I think that was a pretty good chapter! R&R! Reviews are always lovely~**


	7. District 5 Reapings

**Okay, I am going to try to be much quicker about updating, because that's always a problem of mine, but I really do want to see this story completed.**

**Also, all you lurkers, review! I know you're out there…seriously, even the shortest review would make me happy~**

**Thanks to demigodgirl1000 for December, and tomoyoforever for Morgan.**

District 5: December 'Dekk' Hadaway

I wake up happily on the morning of the reapings. I know that it's a bad day today: I mean, two kids will be selected to die, which isn't really very nice at all of the Capitol. But I get to dress up, which is always fun!

Smiling and humming, I carefully put on my tuxedo. It's sort of uncomfortable because it's too small, but it's okay. I think I can still do cartwheels in it.

Frowning, I back up and try one. I get a bit of a head rush as I turn upside down, and it ends with me falling as I try to land.

I giggle a little. At least it works!

Something whispers in the back of my mind. _Dekk, you idiot. Stop that. Now._

_Oh, What, let Dekk have some fun, _another chimes in. It's the one I've named Who. _Please be quiet and have your rants done._

_Dekk's making a fool of himself, like he always does! _What snarls. _I'm the real Dekk, not him. He should let me take control. _

I wince and shake my head. "No, no," I mutter. "I'm in charge right now. Not either of you, What and Who."

_Shut up, _What retorts.

Tears start leaking out of my eyes.

"JUST BE QUIET!" I shriek.

My alters mutter a bit, Who starting to cry a little.

Mom comes up the stairs to my room, looking worried.

"Dekk?" she says softly. "Are you alright?"

I sniffle a bit and nod. "We're okay." I start and catch myself. Mom doesn't like me talking about them. "_I'm _okay," I correct myself.

She smiles. I think she's glad that for once, I'm here, instead of one of them.

As much as they can be annoying, though, they're my friends. I'm never alone with them. I always have my friends with me. There's lots of them, after all. They keep me safe from when I get scared. They protect me.

But they take over me.

And some of them scare me…..scare _us. _

But Mom's asking me if I want to come downstairs for breakfast, and from the smells wafting up from the kitchen downstairs, I can tell that there's bacon sizzling on the stove. _Anything _for breakfast besides tesserae mush is a treat, and bacon is expensive. Mom must have been saving.

I go downstairs with her, and she hands me a plate of bacon.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I chime. I know what this cost her, and I'm really, really happy. I can feel my mouth watering as I sit down at the beat-up table.

I freeze slightly. Daddy's at the table. He has dark circles under his eyes, and I know that he's been working late again.

"Dekk." he growls. "Or are you someone else today?" he spits this out like it's the worst thing imaginable.

I shrink back, and I can feel the rest of my alters scrambling, trying to wrest control from me in my moment of fear.

"No, Daddy, I'm myself." I respond quietly.

"Not for long, I bet." he snarls and continues eating his bacon, signaling that the conversation is over.

I take a deep breath. "Thank you for the bacon, Daddy," I say in a slightly trembling voice.

He looks up. "I got it for your mother, for dealing with you all the time. If it was up to me, you wouldn't have any."

My mother interrupts the conversation at this point. "Teeter, he's just a boy. Don't get so mad with him. I appreciate the bacon, I really do. But he's part of the family."

"No!" Daddy yells. "He's unnatural. He's a freak."

Mom starts to yell back at him, and tears well up in my eyes. I try to get really small, and slink away without them noticing.

It's time for the reapings, anyway. If I stayed later, I would be late.

I hurry through the District 5 streets, skipping and turning a cartwheel every so often. People steer clear of me, they've heard of us, my friends and I. Maybe they think that they're contagious. Silly people. My friends are only my friends. They came to me when I was afraid, to help me…

But the people don't know that. They think that my friends are bad people.

Most of them are good. They try to be good, and when they're bad, I try to keep them in line.

But when they take over, it's scary. Because I don't know, sometimes, if I'm me, or if I'm one of my friends.

A voice seems to whisper, _"Maybe What's right. What if he is the real Dekk….and I've been shutting him away all this time…"_

I shake my head and the bad voice away. That was probably What himself, trying to take over.

Silly What.

I skip down the cracked paved road that makes up the poorer part of our District, until it slowly merges into the smooth road of the richer part, and that into the town square.

A Peacekeeper checks me in, and I take my place in the fourteen year olds section. The boy next to me looks like he's from the richer part of town, because his tuxedo is clearly new and it fits nicely. Also, he isn't backing away from me, so he doesn't know about my friends.

"Hi!" I say cheerfully. "What's your name?"

He looks at me strangely for a second, like he can't comprehend why I'm talking to him.

"Jesse," he says slowly.

"That's a cool name! I haven't met anyone named Jesse before. I like the way it sounds. Jesse."

"Thanks…" he replies, obviously uncomfortable.

The mayor starts talking, and he looks relieved, as if he thinks that will make me be quiet.

But that's okay! I can just talk quietly.

"My name's Dekk," I whisper.

He looks irritated. "Nice."

"Do you think it's a cool name? It's short for December, but I don't like that name because it sort of sounds silly."

Jesse scowls. "Dekk, I'm sorry that I'm being rude, but can you please shut up? I'm trying to listen to the speech."

I pout but say nothing.

Meany pooper.

Immediately, I feel bad for calling him a name, and am about to apologize when I remember he doesn't want me to talk to him.

Sullenly, I face the stage.

The mayor is finishing reading the new Treaty of Treason, with a bit of resentment in her voice as she says the last sentences. I remember that she supported the rebel's cause in the rebellion, and was barely able to keep her position as mayor. The riots were scary, but other than that, I hardly noticed when the Districts won. It made no difference to me, except for the fact that the fighting stopped, and for three years, there weren't any Games. Technically, this is my first reaping, as when I was first eligible at age twelve, two years ago, the Districts had already taken over, and the Capitol Games were the ones aired that year.

The escort makes me giggle a little bit as she gets on the stage. Half of her hair is bright orange and in an afro style, and the other half is shaved to the scalp. She's in a highlighter-yellow minidress and looping around her limbs are black ribbons tattoos. As I look closer, though, I realize that it's text.

"Hello," she says in a low drawl, unlike the normal Capitol peppy accent, "My name is Irra Ludo, and I'll be District Five's escort this year. In the words of a man from a past era, fortunate people often have very favorable beginnings and very tragic endings. What matters isn't being applauded when you arrive - for that is common - but being missed when you leave."

I'm impressed that she could remember all of that. It's quite a long quote: I couldn't remember it all.

"Now's the time to find out who those fortunate people are! Entering the Games has favorable beginnings, of course, but twenty-three will come out with a tragic ending. Let's hope that one of our tributes is the one that is more fortunate than the rest!"

Picking her way over to the girl's ball, she calls, "Ladies first!"

She doesn't swirl the ball, trying to drum up tension. She simply plucks a name from the top, but that seems to be even more effective.

"Morgan Falls," she calls out in a smooth voice, as if she was announcing what she had for dinner.

I immediately feel bad for Morgan, whoever she is. I hear a muffled squeak from the girl's section, the only sound in the silent square.

Then people start shouting, exclaiming rude remarks. Most commonly, I hear, "Hey!" and "Get back here!"

I stand on my tippytoes and crane my neck to see what's happening.

The girl, Morgan, is running away. Once she hits the edge of the crowd, though, a Peacekeeper grabs her. She struggles, and tries to run away. The Peacekeepers drag her up to the stage, and halfway there, she's limp in their arms, resigned to her fate.

I feel bad for her, especially once she gets to the top of the stage.

I recognize her now. She's the other freak from our district. People avoid her like they do me, because she has fits every once in awhile. She'll freeze up and start screaming, and it's _really_ spooky. She avoids me, though, just like I avoid her. We're both freaked out by the other.

The escort eyes Morgan distastefully. "You're a piece of work, huh?" she muttered. "No matter. Boys, your turn," she said, going over to the boy's reaping glass.

My throat tightened. _Am I going to die?_

Again, she simply plucked one off the top.

Time seemed to stand still. No one moved, no one spoke, except for Irra Ludo, calling out the last 'fortunate one.'

"DECEMBER HADAWAY!"

At that moment, all of my friends unleash themselves upon me, trying to tell me what to do in my moment of utter terror.

_Get up there! They'll think you're weak otherwise! _What snarls.

Why says nothing, but his presence exudes the feeling that he would much rather not walk to his death.

Who starts sobbing. _We're all going to die some horrible, painful death! _he wails. _This could be our final breath!_

_Shut it with the rhymes, Who, _Where says snarkily. _We should get up on that stage and show them that we're nonplussed by this! I agree with What. This time. _he adds as an afterthought.

I'm frozen, unsure what to do with my friends squabbling in my brain. Tears slowly, silently, leak out of my eyes.

Then _he _comes in, slowly, lazily.

_Now, Dekk, _When purrs to me. _Let's get up on that stage, huh? Into the Games, into death… _When exudes happiness at the thought. _You don't have a choice otherwise. The Peacekeepers will come for you, if they aren't already._

I slowly turned my head. There they were, looking for me. Several people were pointing me out, including Jesse.

Double meany pooper.

_Go up on that stage. _When urges. _Don't be dragged, like that pathetic girl. But then again…if you're too afraid, I could do it for you._

I shake my head. "No, no, no. I can do it."

Slowly, stiffly, I walk towards the stage. Fear overwhelms me, and I feel light-headed, like I'm going to pass out.

I climb up the stairs, feeling like I'm going to puke.

I can't really hear the escort as she announces us as District Five's tributes, and I shake hands mutely with Morgan. Everything's drowned out by my friends yelling at me, telling me to do different things, telling me to let them do it for me.

On the way to the Justice Building, I start to sob.

No one comes for me to say goodbye for the longest time, then Mom finally comes in. Daddy isn't with her.

"Dekk," she said quietly. "Are you alright?"

I nod mutely.

"Are you really Dekk right now?" she asks me.

"I'm Dekk, Mom," I say quietly.

She hugs me fiercely. "Good. Dekk, no matter what you do, don't give into them, okay? Please, I want to make sure that you're really the one that I'm watching. Please."

I raise my tear-stained face to hers. "I'll try, Mom."

"That's my boy."

She forces a smile, then walks out.

I wonder why Daddy didn't come.

I pout. Daddy doesn't like me. That's why he didn't come. He probably didn't want Mom to come, either.

I wait in the visitors room, expecting no one else, until the escort comes to lead me onto the train.

**Well, there you have it! District Five, my favorite District. **

**That little review box down there is feeling lonely….**


	8. District 6 Reapings

**Hi, guys! I know what you're thinking: **_**Gasp! Is it…Myrtle? No way! I thought that this SYOT died after she didn't update since July!**_

**Ummm…yeah. Sorry about that. The thing is, my laptop, (which is what I write all my stories on) broke and finally died after being in the process of doing so for many years now. We have a main computer at home, but I feel really self-concious whenever I write my stories using the main computer because everyone's asking me what I'm writing and stuff and I'm one of those people who doesn't feel very comfortable sharing their work with others face to face. (Wow, that was a run-on.) But my point is made. Also, I was in a bit of a rut because although the D6 tributes will have a GREAT story later on, (SPOILERS: you'll cry. Maybe.) neither of their personalities can be really showcased in the reapings. However, I finally tackled Miles' personality and got him down here. Plus, I'm home sick today, which gives me an opportunity to write without people looking over my shoulder. So, here's Miles Fox, created by Meredith "Rose" Wolf, and Ariana Gomez, by tomoyoforever.**

District 6: Miles Fox

I wake up. Honestly, I suppose that's a redundant thing to say: it's the morning, _duh _I'm going to wake up. Except that one time when I slept through the entire day-that was nice. I got to skip school, not like my parents are checking or anything anyway. That's beside the point, though. Today's reaping day, and I have to wake up fairly early to get ready. I have to look my best for the ladies in the Capitol just in case, right?

I run my fingers through my hair so that it has at least some semblance of style. Even if I didn't even try to fix it, it'd look hot anyway, so there isn't really a point except to make it look a different _kind _of hot.

The reaping's not until eleven, though, and judging by the dusty old analog clock on my wall, I have just enough time to screw around with my friends, sneak back here, and change into my reaping outfit before getting back to the town square. I dress in a tight T-shirt that shows off my muscles and slacks, then warily open the door of my bedroom.

Immediately, the stench overwhelms me and I nearly gag. Mom's crashed on the couch, a bottle still in her hand. A puddle of vomit stews next to her on the couch, and I hold my breath as I pick through the living room. Bits of her puke tangles her long black hair, the same shade as mine. It's disgusting, how helpless she lets herself become…but I got over that a long time ago.

As I tiptoe-run past her, her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me vaguely, like she can't quite place who I am. "Oh, hey…" she slurs, fumbling through her memory for my name, "uh…Frankie?" she questions, with a proud little grin.

Frank's my younger brother, and he hasn't gone by that name since he was five.

I steadfastly ignore her and run out the door. No point in trying to be quiet now, she's awake.

Just as I close the door, I catch a glimpse of my mother's face, red and confused. "No, don't go!" she cries, like a child. She starts to whimper.

I jog off the front step. Honestly, she can be a real pain. It's embarrassing when girls come over.

I'm heading to Phoenix's house. I have a fair amount of admirers at school, but not really any friends. Not any but Phoenix.

When I reach his house, he's milling around the front of his house, people-watching and flirting with the occasional girl that passes by. He sees me, and breaks into a grin.

"Man, where've you been? I've been waiting here for ages, but I knew you'd show up!"

I smirk. "'Course I'd show up. It's a holiday, do you expect I'd stay home?"

We both howl with laughter before taking to the streets.

"So," he asks casually. "What's the word with the ladies?"

"Aw, them?" I roll my eyes. "Shawna was a real bore, not nearly as fun as I thought. Too easy to pick up. I just had to waltz right up to her and ask, and she said yes! No fuss at all. We hung around, then I dumped her a couple days ago."

He nodded sympathetically. "Don't I know it. Though, there is that chick Riley. She looks like she'd be a hard one to get."

"Yeah, but not nearly hot enough."

We go back and forth, discussing girls and school and bits of gossip we picked up, and flirting with the girls we run into, most of whom either shoot us dirty looks or giggle like idiots.

I much prefer the first type, but I'll take who I can get.

After about an hour, Phoenix checks his watch. "I gotta get back, reaping's are gonna start soon."

I shrug. "See ya there, Phoenix!"

"Catch you later, Fox!"

I walk back to my house, slightly afraid to find it in the state that I left it in. However, when I enter, even though the liquor stench is still overpowering, it slightly diminished. My mother is up and stumbling around, and judging by the new stain but lack of puke on the couch, clumsily cleaned up her mess. My brother's sitting at the kitchen table, playing with a bit of sausage still on his plate.

"Miles!" my mother exclaims. She knows my name now, that's a good sign. "When did you leave? Were you out all night again?"

She didn't remember me leaving; I'm not surprised. I don't answer and simply walk into my room. I change into my reaping outfit, a sharp-looking tux, and walk back out the door.

I don't need my parents.

Kids are flowing out of their houses. It's interesting to watch them: some, especially the younger ones, are afraid and trembling. Most try to look casual, but their eyes betray them and their fears are broadcast to the world. A sparse few look like they honestly don't care, or are joking around with friends as they walk to town square.

I wonder what I look like briefly, but then smirk as I answer the question. I look stunning.

The Peacekeepers monitoring the town square prick my finger as I enter, and even though it hurts, I don't flinch. And if I did, I did _very briefly. _

I shove my way through until I'm standing next to Phoenix. His reddish-brown hair and his height makes him easy to spot in crowds.

"Hey hey," he greets me. "Back again, my bad penny. Did you see that girl over the 16 year old's section? She was totally checking you out."

He points her out to me, and sure enough, she's staring right at me. I shoot her a saucy wink and she blushes.

"Maybe I'll go track her down after the reapings, huh?" I say, and we both laugh.

I briefly glance back and see my parents and brother coming in. Frank checks in at the fourteen year old section, and my mother and father take their places in the back. Sunlight glints off something shiny in my mother's purse, and I know that she's brought her liquor.

The mayor comes onstage, and the crowd shushes. Even though she's the mayor and I'm sure I've had to remember her name for countless stupid tests, I still don't know it, and I still don't get how knowing her name will benefit me in any way whatsoever.

She starts to read the Treaty of Treason, another thing I don't care about. And because of that District revolt a couple years back, it's even longer. I remember the revolt: it was…seven years ago? Yeah, that's right. I was ten, then. Everyone was hiding in their houses, afraid of being bombed. My mother was going through serious withdrawal and was annoying the heck out of everyone, so my dad clubbed her to shut her up.

Not the best memories, and what do we get as a result of it? A longer, extra-boring Treaty of Treason.

After what seems like an eternity, the mayor finishes and steps down from the stage. Our escort comes up, looking perky like all of those rainbow-dyed Capitolians do.

Interestingly enough, our escort, despite being a male, is dyed in a rainbow pattern. His face is red, and his short sleeves display his arms, blocked off in segments of orange, yellow, green, and so forth. To top it off, he's wearing bright violet shoes and long violet socks.

I can't decide whether to be disgusted or amused.

"Hello, District 6!" he greets us in a strangely deep voice that sends the crowd into hysterics. He pouts and continues, "My name is Obi Warn, and I'm your district escort this year!"

"No duh," Phoenix whispers to me, and I snicker.

Oblivious, he continues. "Now, let's go traditional and go ladies first, all right?" he walks over to the girl's glass bowl, and delicately plucks a name from the middle. "Ariana Gomez is our female tribute this year! Yeah!" he does an odd little dance onstage. Phoenix mimes him, and I have to smother my laughter.

A girl slowly emerges from the fourteen year old's section, trembling. When she finally gets onstage and faces the crowd, I vaguely recognize her. I tried to place it, but then I remembered: her little brother was killed by some Peacekeepers in the rebellion.

But lots of people died in the rebellion. Either way, she's pretty hot: a bit skinny for my tastes, but has beautiful blue eyes and long black hair. Not as gorgeous as some of the chicks I've picked up in my day, but for being picked at random, they sure picked a good one.

"And now, the boys!" he prances over to the reaping bowl, and despite myself, I'm nervous.

He pulls out a slip. Realizing that he didn't really play up the drama last time, he slowly unfolds it before reading.

"Miles Fox!"

Sucker. Off to the Games with him—wait.

"Miles Fox?" he calls again.

That's me.

I get over my initial shock pretty quickly and shoot a smoking smile to the nearby camera. I step out of the crowd and jog up to the stage. I grab the microphone from the escort and wink to the crowd, drawing attention to my stunning green eyes.

"I'm Miles Fox, and I'll be the best tribute District 6 ever saw!"

The crowd applauds, and I grin and wave to the crowd.

So far, this isn't this bad!

I shake hands with Ariana and flash her a grin just for kicks, before we're separated in the Justice Building for goodbyes.

Phoenix, predictably, is the first one in. He's clearly upset and glares at the Peacekeeper on the way in.

"This sucks!" he yells, his hands balled up into fists. "Why you? This…" he launches into a spew of curse words.

I roll my eyes. "Chill out, Phoenix. I've got this in the bag. I've got the looks, the strength, and the drive: sponsors'll flock to me just like the girls do."

He shoots me a look. "And what if you don't come back? What then?"

"That won't happen, so no worries."

Phoenix looks torn. "Please, Fox—" he starts before I interrupt him.

"Nothing," I say firmly. "Will happen."

The Peacekeeper opens the door and pokes his head into the room. "Time's up."

Phoenix starts to leave, then stops and turns. "You better come back."

I sit back confidently. "'Course I will!"I shout back.

I wait for a bit, then my next visitor comes in. It's my mom.

She's dead drunk, hiccupping and falling over her own feet. She's sobbing.

I roll my eyes as she starts to talk.

"Miles, Miles…this is so sad! So sad…come back, all right? Promise me?"

This is pathetic. "Yeah, whatever, I promise."

She looks up at me sorrowfully. "Pinky promise?" she asks pitifully.

I stand up in loathing of this helpless creature who calls herself my mother. "No."

"But Miles…" she whines.

"No."

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease…." she trails off and I realize that she's fallen asleep.

I call the Peacekeeper in, and he drags my wreck of a mother out of the room.

My brother's next. "So," he asks casually. "How'd Mom do?"

I snort. "Fell asleep after asking me to pinky promise that I'll come back."

"Wow," he comments. "I saw her swigging after your name got called, but that was fast."

"Nah, it was just left over from last night, she was smashed when I woke up."

Frank tsks in annoyance. "So, the Games. Think you'll see any nice girls?"

I grin. "Aren't there always some hot Career chicks?"

"Always," he agrees. "Or at least that's how their rep goes, huh? I don't think I've ever seen one before, except for tapes in history."

"Well, I'll get to see 'em face to face!"

"Just make sure they don't stab you to death before you get in a kiss," Frank teases.

I playfully shove him. "Nah, they'll be too entranced to notice their knives."

The Peacekeeper again calls time, and Frank doffs an imaginary cap to him.

"Mister Peacekeeper," he says formally, backing out of the door. He shoots me a funny face behind the Peacekeeper's back, and I howl with laughter, leaving the Peacekeeper confused.

No one else visits me, and I'm a little disappointed. No girls? I thought that this would go better, a couple of admirers at least. Whatever, I don't need them.

My dad didn't show up either…but I don't need him either. And he doesn't need me.

After awhile, Rainbow Dude comes and gets me and leads me out to the train.

Again, I smile and wave to the cameras.

Smile and wave, Miles. Smile and wave.

It'll get you through.

Hopefully.

**Told you that I'd do it! Anyway, there's also a couple questions about past reapings that I thought I'd answer:**

**D4: The relationship between Shadow and Christie will be explained, given time. I am also aware that it's a bit Peeta-esque as someone else pointed out, but this story won't end up like THG at all, trust me. **

**D5: I am aware that when you have DID, your alters don't actually talk to you. Demigodgirl1000 helpfully explained this in her review: Dekk doesn't actually communicate, he's just talking to himself and basing the people he's talking to (his alters) off of what people have told him his alters are like. He feels more comfortable imagining them than just waiting for them to take over. For more info, read the rest of her comment, it's very helpful.**

**Random thing I noticed: all of my chapters have been five pages, this one's six but that's only because of the really long A/N at the beginning, but D4 was ten pages. I guess I just had a lot to say with that one. ;)**

**I promise, I'll update with D7 soon! It won't take me another 10 months. **

**See ya around! Leave a comment, pretty please? It makes me write so much faster…:D**

**~Myrtle**


	9. District 7 Reapings

**Ha! Two updates in two days! I'm on a roll! Although, admittedly, sick days are good for that…you just can write all day and voila, two updates! Plus, it's really not that bad—just bad enough to have me stay home, but not bad enough to be puking my guts out. You're welcome for the mental image.**

_**ONE LAST THING**_**. Lurkers. I know you're out there…I do check my story traffic and so when I see that 13 people viewed District 6's reapings and that 9 people visited the same page, I feel a little disheartened when I only get one review…and it's not even on District 6. I know that the break is responsible for this and that my slow updates have cost this story followers, but really: just taking a minute to even write a short comment like "Good job" makes me feel a whole lot better. **

**District 7 is a pretty epic District this year, and I keep going back and forth on whether it will be a split POV again or just a solid one. They're both just such great characters, and once I start writing one I just don't want to stop!**

**Also, the way that I'm actually setting up the POV's goes as follows:**

**If your character didn't get a reaping POV, they'll get a interview/training/train ride/night before games/chariot rides POV. (And yes, I'm aware that that was VERY out of order)**

**If your character had a spilt POV, they will have another POV in the time periods mentioned above, albeit shorter than the others.**

**All of the characters will get to say something at least once in those time periods when it's not their POV, ex: Tribute 1's POV: Lalala, doing stuff…oh look, it's Tribute 2, hey, Tribute 2, wassup? **

**Well, not exactly, but you get the point. I'm trying to give all the characters equal screen time. Story time?**

**Anyway, onto the reapings. (I've noticed that I have a penchant for long A/Ns….) Thanks to RockSolid for Tasi and piratelvrr35 for Aryn.**

**(OMTL that A/N is nearly a page long!)**

District 7: Tasi Merkava

By the time that the sun is rising on Reaping Day, I've already been up for awhile. It's always beautiful to see the sun rise, especially in District Seven, where the light falls through the evergreens and casts a rosy hue on the ground. If you look up, the spaces between the tops of the trees are pastel pink or burnt orange, with the robin's egg blue peeping through as the day progresses. I have to get up early whenever I want to watch the sunrise, but it's always worth it.

Hope, my border collie and only friend, sits beside me quietly, her head resting on her dainty white paws. I know that she can't understand me, but she seems to realize that watching the sunrise isn't a time to be chasing squirrels.

It's still dark out, but as we watch, the first glimmer of sunlight appears on the horizon. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun comes up. There are not enough clouds to produce the truly dazzling purples, oranges and pinks, but the bit of orange in the sky will suffice for now. The sky skips the colors and simply fades from black to bright blue as we watch. It's not nearly as pretty, but still a veritable miracle to watch in and of itself: black to charcoal to downy gray to baby blue to robin's egg.

It seems a shame that a beautiful thing like a sunrise is wasted on a dark day like today.

The sunrise over, I sit up and scratch Hope behind the ear. She wags her tail happily, then darts off into the forest, sniffing bushes and staring wide-eyed at small animals. Even though she sees the outdoors every day, she's still just as enraptured by it today as she was a week ago.

I start to walk back to my house, a lodge in the woods. My adoptive father, Haloti Merkava, lives there because he's one of the lumber bosses and, as he puts it, he likes to keep an eye on the business. I think that's just his excuse for living in the outdoors where he's much happier, as opposed to a nice house in the central District, but I don't question his motives.

I don't really have any memory of my real father, and none of my mother. The ones I have of my father aren't very nice anyway: anger and hatred towards me. He abandoned me in the woods when I was five, and Haloti found me on the brink of death. I don't know why he abandoned me, but part of me is glad that he did: I'm much happier here than when I remember being with him.

The carpet of fallen pine needles softens my steps but the forest is loud in the morning if you listen. Hope snuffles after a bug, animals run through the underbrush, birds twitter softly, and the wind gently shakes the pine needles, a sound that fades into white noise for many of District 7's inhabitants, but to me is always there.

When I reach the cabin, Haloti is already waiting for me on the porch. Hope bounds up next to him and happily licks his hand, but he ignores her. He crosses his arms and looks stern, but I know that he really doesn't mind my walks in the woods.

"Where've you been?" he questions, and although he knows the answer, it seems like something that is obligatory to ask.

"Outside with Hope," I respond, my voice quiet as always. I suppose that my voice and my personality are opposite of what you'd expect from someone who looks like me: a hulking, 6'4 18-year old, but I've never really been the aggressive type.

Haloti sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you tell me?" Another obligatory question.

I shrug. "It was early, and I didn't want to wake you up."

He cracks a wry smile. "Fair enough. Come on inside, have some breakfast if you haven't eaten already."

I hadn't, and didn't realize how hungry I was until now. I walk up the stairs carefully as always: stairs are a bit difficult with my leg. When I was younger and working in the lumberyard, a tree fell on my leg and it didn't heal quite right. Now, I have a slight limp, and although it's annoying, I try not to let it get in my way.

After all, the tree could have fallen on all of me, and then where would we be?

I lumber into the cabin, ducking my head slightly to get through the door, and Hope slinks in with me. Inside, I sit in one of the two oak chairs at the kitchen table as Haloti comes out with a plate of eggs and bacon.

Most of District Seven would be amazed that we have a similar breakfast every day, but since Haloti's a lumber boss, we have enough money to afford nice breakfasts, at least. I try not to take it for granted, but I sort of do anyway.

After opening a window to get some fresh air into the stuffy cabin, he joins me at the table and we begin to eat. Hope shuffles about under the table, looking for scraps, and I surreptitiously feed her a slice of bacon.

It's quiet at the table until Haloti breaks the silence. "Are you nervous?" he asks, a tinge of worry in his voice.

I stop with a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth, and put the fork down. Suddenly I'm not that hungry anymore. "Yes," I respond bluntly.

An awkward silence falls upon our small table, broken by Hope's whines when she realizes that food has stopped coming. I pat her head under the table and put some eggs on the floor for her.

"I don't know what to say," he starts finally. "There really isn't anything to say. I remember my reapings as a kid, and I was always just as nervous. You're lucky; you just have to go through one."

I nod. I knew this…but what if I get drawn? The fact that I only have one reaping doesn't reduce my chances of being drawn this year.

But I generally try not to sink into pessimism.

We finish breakfast in silence, and give Hope our leftovers. Haloti puts the plates in the sink, and then we go to get ready.

Entering my room, which always feels much too cramped for me, I notice an outfit laying on the bed: Haloti must have gotten it yesterday and then put it on my bed while he was waiting for me to come back this morning.

It's pretty simple: nothing too fancy, which I appreciate. It's a pair of nice jeans and a dark green dress shirt, nothing frilly or uncomfortable. I pull the outfit on, my large fingers briefly fumbling with the buttons on the shirt. I finger-comb my longish, curly brown hair and put it in a low ponytail; it irritates me when it gets into my eyes.

I walk back out into the kitchen and Haloti gives me a once-over. "You look fine," he pronounces, and we set off. I want to bring Hope, but I don't ask. It seems a little childish, and besides, who brings their dog to the reapings?

We talk idly, staying away from the subject of the reapings. Well, I say talk: our conversations usually consist of him asking a question and me briefly answering. Sometimes Haloti comments that it's a blessing to have a teenage boy who barely talks, other times he insists that he wants to know more about me. Frankly, having had raised me, I figure he knows everything there is to know about me, which isn't that much. I'm not a very intriguing person, I suppose. And talking simply isn't my strong suit.

By now, everyone else is probably just waking up, or maybe having breakfast if they live on the outskirts of town. It's a three mile walk to the town square from our house, though, so we had to leave earlier. When we finally enter the center of District Seven, I feel a little self-conscious. I haven't been here for a long time, except for the occasional grocery run. Sure, I went to school, but I dropped out after ninth grade. School didn't hold many interests for me, because as far as I can tell, there are two reasons why people go to school: a social life, and to learn. As you might have guessed by now, I'm not the most social person, and I'm about average when it comes to intellect, although sometimes I wish that I was a little smarter.

I can see the town square now, and people have begun to gather. The sheer number of the people makes me a little nervous, and I jump as something suddenly licks my hand. I turn around and can't help letting out a little chuckle: it's Hope. Now I remember: we left the window open. She must have gotten out and followed us all the way here. I ruffle the fur on her head and point her out to Haloti.

He sighs wearily, but it's the joking kind so I know that he doesn't really mind. "That dog," he says, shaking his head in wonder. "She always follows you around."

I grin. "Apparently."

We walk the short distance to the check in station, then say a short goodbye. Although Hope whines about being separated from me, Haloti drags her off by her collar. She earns strange looks from the Peacekeepers, but no one has asked Haloti to take her away, which is a good thing.

The Peacekeeper pricks my finger, then points me to the 18's section. I awkwardly shuffle my way through the crowd until I find a spot to stand.

Luckily, we made it on time, if not a little early. I wait for about five minutes before the escort comes onstage. She's extremely petite, and can't be more than five feet tall. She has light pink hair and a flouncy turquoise dress with a huge skirt and more ruffles than I care to count. It looks extremely uncomfortable, but she doesn't seem to mind. She has long, bright red hair and bright turquoise eyes to match her gown. She also has an enormous amount of gold eyeshadow on. I wonder how she can cope with all that stuff on her face—wouldn't it fall into her eyes? But it would be rude to ask, and besides, hopefully I'll never have to meet her one-on-one, because if I did, that would mean that I had been reaped.

"Hello, District Seven!" she announces, having to stand on tiptoes—or what I assume are tiptoes, I can't see her feet underneath the huge gown—to reach the microphone. "Are you excited for the new Hunger Games? I know I am!" She cheers and claps her hands daintily, trying to spur on applause. There's a few halfhearted claps, but I don't join in.

She frowns, obviously disappointed by the crowd's meager reaction. "And now, to the mayor to read the fantastic new Treaty of Treason!" She backs offstage, gesturing to the mayor as she does so. It looks pretty ridiculous, but I don't think she cares, as she's beaming.

The mayor, an old man, steps up to the microphone. I think that he was the mayor before the rebellion too, but I don't know for sure. Like I said, I dropped out of school.

He slowly reads the Treaty, and I try to listen, but half of it is technical law-sounding stuff, and my brain goes in knots trying to understand it. All and all, I only comprehend up to the end of the introduction, at which point I just lost track of what he was saying and started zoning out.

Finally, he steps down and the escort comes back on, just as cheery as before.

"Awesome! Don't you just love the new and improved version! So much more drama." She mimes fainting.

No one laughs.

Unperturbed, she continues. "Let's do gentlemen first for a change, okay?" she flashes the crowd a smile, and makes her way over to the boy's bowl.

I stiffen unconsciously.

She plucks a slip of paper out of the bowl.

_Please, let it not be me. _

In a clear voice, she calls, "Tasi Merkava!"

I freeze. Most of the boys look relieved, or confused as they probably have no idea who I am.

I take a deep breath. I have no choice, but I can do this. If I try hard enough, I can do anything.

I walk up to the podium, completely dwarfing the minute escort.

"Wow!" she exclaims, making me feel even more awkward, "He looks like a great tribute! Now, onto the girls!"

She pulls out a slip. "Aryn Merula!"

District 7: Aryn Merula

Beside me, Flora, my best friend since childhood, gasps. No. No, it can't be me.

But it is.

I put on a brave face for the cameras, and walk confidently up to the stage. I try to look like, well, myself: tough and determined. It's a little hard to look tough, though, when you're nearly a foot shorter than your district partner. I've never seen him around before, but he definitely seems like he'll be a competitor.

Maybe I can strike up an alliance with him…we are district partners, after all. And with him as an ally, I'll have a clear advantage…

I immediately feel guilty. I know it's the Games, but I still shouldn't be plotting to take advantage of my district partner.

I've been so immersed in my thoughts that I don't even notice that I've made it up to the stage. The escort—I think she was too wrapped up in all the excitement to mention her name, because I didn't catch it—announces that we are District 7's tributes, and the crowd gives an obviously fake cheer. Only the Career Districts and the Capitol would actually cheer on two kids going to their deaths.

We shake hands, and I'm surprised by how gentle his handshake is. I expected him to crush my hand with his grip, but it was like he was hardly holding it at all.

Maybe he's not as vicious as I thought.

After being led to the Justice Building, I barely have to wait a minute before my friends come rushing in. Flora is first, she's all over me, sobbing and telling me that I have to come back. I promise her that I will, and soon enough, I'm crying, because I honestly don't know if I can fulfill that promise. I bet that every tribute promises to come back, every tribute tells their parents and their friends and siblings that they'll try their hardest, that they'll survive. And twenty-three promises are broken.

Tears are flowing out of my eyes now, but Flora sniffs one last time and in a choked voice says, "No, don't start crying. That'll make you look weak, remember? Wipe your eyes," she commanded me weakly. I do as she says and she nods in satisfaction, although her eyes are still watery.

She starts to leave, but I stop her. "Flora, please," I ask her. "Can you say goodbye?"

Flora pauses. "I don't want to, because it makes it seem like you aren't coming back."

"But we say goodbye nearly every day," I argue, "and I always see you again."

She gives me a wan smile. "You win. Okay, Aryn. See you around."

"See you later, Flora," I respond, tears threatening to come back. But I remember what Flora said and hold them down.

My family is next. My mother and father are both sobbing. Of course, I expected them to cry—who wouldn't?—but it's unnerving to see your parents cry. Parents are supposed to be the strong ones, the ones who know exactly what to do all the time. The ones who have control over everything.

But no one, except for the Capitol, has control over the Games. Not now, not anymore, not since the rebellion failed.

My brother, Tray, and sister, Camilla, are here as well. I'm glad that Tray wasn't reaped: he's twelve, so he'd have very little luck when it comes to surviving the Games. I have to admit, though: I'd be happier if all of us were safe, even if it meant another person going to their death. It's a selfish thought, and I feel bad thinking it, but everyone would think the same. No one wants to die.

Camilla is carrying her baby, a cute 2 year old. She'd been married and had him when the rebellion was still in charge, when we thought that there would be peace. Now she regrets it: she and her husband wanted a child, but they didn't want to have their child live a life where he had a fair chance of dying every year. I reach a finger out towards him, and he curls his tiny little baby fingers around mine in a strong grip. I smile, and Camilla starts crying.

Before they leave, they all make me promise to come back as well.

A long wait goes by, and I'm worried that the person who I've been waiting for won't show up. But finally, he does, entering red-faced and out of breath.

"Hi, Titus," I say. I can't think of anything else.

"Hi, Aryn. Sorry that I took so long to get here."

I cast my eyes down, slightly embarrassed. "I was afraid that you wouldn't come."

He looks shocked. "Of course I was going to come! Don't think that way, Aryn, it makes me feel like you've given up already."

I stand up, suddenly angry at him. "I am _not _giving up, and I will _never _give up. I've already promised Flora and my family that I'll come back, and I don't intend to break that promise."

Titus laughs softly, and I realize that I've fallen for his trap. "Ha, ha," I respond dryly. "Very funny."

"No, it wasn't, was it?" he said as an afterthought. "I suppose that it was actually rather mean."

I punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Yes, yes it was."

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "I took a bit to get here because as soon as the reapings were over, I ran all the way to my house to get you this." He presented me with a small rope bracelet. It's nothing fancy, but you can tell it's handmade by the small mistakes mixed in with the knotting.

I slip it on; it fits perfectly. I nearly start crying again, but choke it back. _Look strong. _"Thank you so much," I whisper.

He smiles, and his eyes are watering, too. "I was going to give it to you as a present when I asked you to be my girlfriend, but I suppose that this is the only chance I'll get now."

I lean forwards and kiss him. "Does that answer your question?"

Titus grinned. "Actions do speak louder than words."

I laughed, and then laughed some more because of the irony. Titus could always make me laugh, even when I had just been given the equivalent of a death sentence.

Titus looks surprised, then begins laughing along with me.

Finally the Peacekeeper waiting outside the door comes in and tells us that it's time for Titus to leave. He gives me one last, lingering kiss, and we part.

"Bye, Titus," I call after him.

"Goodbye! Good luck! I'll be rooting for you!" he shouts as the door closes.

I shut my eyes and try to remember that last glimpse of Titus. When I'm convinced that I won't forget it, I open my eyes.

I'm ready to face the arena now.

**So, how was it? Personally, I think that Tasi's POV went well but Aryn's just sort of slipped the farther I went on. That's the problems with goodbyes: for the most part, they're all the same and it's hard to keep them creative and different, and since Aryn sort of just has a stereotypical family and friends, it was hard and it just sort of flopped. But what do you think? Whose your favorite character so far? We're over halfway through the reapings (finally)! And I think that I've finally gotten motivated! *cheers***

**Remember to review, my lurkers~**

**~Myrtle**


	10. District 8 Reapings

**Do you know what's really sad? It's been a couple days over a year since I first posted this story, and I'm not even done with the reapings.**

**But I am forging on! *dramatic music***

**I shall not let the Mountains of Difficult Characters impede my path, nor the Raging Rivers of Writer's Block stand in my way! I shall—**

**Okay, I can't think of anything else. Sue me. **

**Also, I'd like to thank my six wonderful reviewers: Kelland, Quicquidlibet, Chaos in Her Wake, RockSolid, Udah888, and piratelvr35. Review bunnies make me happy and give off rainbows! (Don't question the mystical powers of the review bunnies.)**

**Thanks to Kelland for Sparrow and Quicquidlibet for Alfie!**

**So, remember: reviews=review bunnies=rainbows=happiness for all!**

District Eight: Alfie Scroh 

As I drowsily untangle myself from the comforting allure of my bed, I realize a shocking fact.

I'm afraid.

Thinking about it, now, I can't quite remember the last time I was afraid. Oh, I've been nervous, sure, and worried, certainly, but fear? It's been awhile. It feels odd, like my skin doesn't fit quite right.

I try to ignore it as I get up, yawn, and make my way over to my wardrobe. It's then, as I open the shoddily-made faux wooden doors that I remember why.

As I peer into my closet, I see it. My reaping outfit. It's not new, in fact, it was my mother's that I scrounged out of her closet, a light blue blouse and a pair of nice jeans. There were some dresses that I saw, but after some debate, I refused to wear any of them. There's a mutual rivalry between dresses and I, and we'd rather stay far away from each other.

I pull on the clothes and walk out of my bedroom to the kitchen. The house is eerily quiet, but I'm starting to adjust to the silence after years of hustle and bustle. I pour myself a bowl of cereal and grab some milk out of the fridge. I start to tip the milk into the bowl, only to recoil in disgust as, instead of milk, a thick yogurt-y substance pours out, accompanied by a piercing sour odor. Wrinkling my nose, I toss the milk into the trash, and, ruefully, the cereal along with it. I open the fridge again and cast a suspicious look over the other occupants before closing it behind me. Don't want to rack up the energy bill, and we all know that the Capitol charges exorbitant prices for it anyway.

Living by myself, even at age eighteen, is still weird. I feel like my father should be in the kitchen, making something-or-other for breakfast, while my brother, Darren, would walk out of his room, late as always. He'd be wearing a rumpled tuxedo—he was always liked to stand out. My mom would walk in, purposeful as always, and start discussing tactics with my dad—

No. I force myself to snap out of my thoughts. That was why they were all gone in the first place.

Moodily, now, I decide on dry toast for breakfast before leaving the house. I try to slam the door as hard as I can to try to expel some of the silence, but the faint echo only makes me more aware of the house's emptiness.

On the main street, though, it's as if "silence" isn't even a word anymore. The streets of Eight are as full as they always are, bustling and full of people. Eight's a busy District as one of the main manufacturing sources needed to constantly supply the Capitol, the lazy scum they are.

Everyone seems to be funneling in one direction, though: the town square. I wonder why for a moment, before realizing that the reaping must be about to start. I thought I had woken up earlier, but I didn't check the clock before I left, and I had stayed up late last night worrying. I must have slept in.

Cursing, I shove my way through the crowd. I didn't want this to happen so darn _fast. _I was supposed to have time to map an escape route, chat up a Peacekeeper so that when I ran, he'd think twice before firing, giving me time to flee. Then, from there…

Well, I hadn't quite gotten that far. But, if I had time, I'd figure it out!

Now, I won't have a choice but to _walk onto the stage._

The thought of going down without a fight appalls me.

I set my focus back onto the present, and try to console myself that I'm focusing on a worst-case scenario here. However, there's still that niggling voice in the back of my head…

…_they took my parents…_

…_and my brother…_

…_and they're coming for me next_

I can't let that happen_._

While I've been off in my thoughts, the mayor must have started the Treaty of Treason, because he's now finishing with the new ending.

_Despite the Capitol's beneficial reign over the Districts, they rebelled once again. The Districts thought that they could succeed, and although their tyranny ruled for a short period of time, the Districts' idea of a "perfect union" collapsed, just as the Capitol knew it would. The Capitol had been waiting, and when the Districts were about to fall apart, the Capitol stepped in once more and saved Panem from destruction._

Of course, this is the _one _part that I have to hear. The words make my blood boil and a knot of anger form in my stomach. I want to scream, "Lies! All lies!" at the top of my lungs, but if my worse-case scenario isn't true after all, this would only confirm my fate. So I rage, albeit silently.

The escort comes onstage, a freak like most Capitolians are. He has jet-black skin, a shock of white hair, and unnaturally bright green eyes. He's rather young, as escorts go, and I guess that he couldn't be any older than twenty five, while most escorts are thirty at least. As his gaze sweeps over the crowd, a collective shiver passes through it, but I stand my ground and stare him in the eyes. He's not going to intimidate me.

"Hello," he says in a smooth, even voice. To be perfectly frank, it would be a rather beautiful voice if not for two things: that it carries a heavy Capitol accent, and that it's obviously fake. "My name is Noktis Luse."

He walks up to the boy's reaping ball and deftly pulls out a name. "Sparrow Albaleen," he announces impassively.

Someone cusses loudly from the 14's section, before going quiet, and I chuckle inwardly despite myself. A boy with dark brown hair and matching eyes walks up to the stage; he's obviously trying to look confident but failing miserably. Noktis ignores the boy and approaches the girl's reaping ball.

A knot forms in my stomach. _What will I do what will I do…_

"Alfie—"

_I'm near the back there's armed Peacekeepers all around…_

"—Scroh!"

_I know what I'm going to do._

I pretend to look afraid, although I knew that this was going to happen. I start to run, putting a desperate expression on my face although inside, I'm only crossing my fingers and hoping that my scheme works.

Of course, a Peacekeeper blocks my way and lunges for my arm to catch me. I use his moment of unbalance to duck under his arm and grab his gun from his holster. As he's about to go for another swipe, I deftly cock the gun and point it steadily at the Peacekeeper. He's an experienced Peacekeeper, and I know that he can tell from my posture that if I shoot, I'll have perfect aim.

You learn things like this when your parents were one of the main leaders of the District Eight rebellion.

I keep my aim on the Peacekeeper while I slowly back away from the crowd. We're at the back of the town square, now, and as soon as I put enough distance between him and me I'll run—

But I've been stupid, so stupid, because I forget to look behind me, and of course I back up right into the grip of another Peacekeeper. I jump slightly as she grabs me, restricting my aim. I couldn't shoot her now without possibly hitting someone else, so I fire the gun at the ground, hoping that the crack of the bullet will at least let her grip relax for a second. But although others in the crowd scream and duck for cover, the Peacekeeper has been trained around guns for years, and she knows the sound of a bullet. She flinches slightly, but doesn't loosen her hold on me. Instead of giving me an escape, she holds me tighter while the first Peacekeeper reclaims his gun. I scowl and spit on him, and in return he punches me in the face. The shock of the pain makes me cringe, but I only grin at him while his comrade carts me off up to the stage. As she finally lets me go at the base of the stairs, probably deciding that I'm safe enough now that I'm disarmed and the stage is surrounded by Peacekeepers with readied guns.

I guess I'm going into the Hunger Games after all, but I won't go without making a statement.

As I walk by the girl's reaping ball, I stumble, and the glass ball shatters on the stage, paper pieces flying into the air like confetti. As I get up, I make sure to brush some off the stage, where they float down into the front rows.

And the people there, as well as I, can see the name that every slip of paper reads:

_Alfie Scroh_

_Alfie Scroh_

_Alfie Scroh_

"Oops," I apologize loudly as I get up. "I'm a little disoriented, that nice ol' Peacekeeper gave me a bit of a bash to my head." I gesture to my swelling eye. "Hope I didn't make too big of a mess." I smile sweetly to the nearest camera I can find.

The escort looks angry, the first emotion I've seen on his face all day. Sparrow, on the other hand, looks at me with a mix of fear and admiration, and I wink at him, to which he recoils slightly.

Noktis quickly grabs the microphone and says, "Our tributes," before getting off the stage.

A man of few words, it seems.

Sparrow and I are hustled off the stage, and a squadron of Peacekeepers marches me into the Justice Building, and three stay in the visiting room with me. I guess that they aren't letting anyone in to see me, although I doubt that anyone would visit even if they allowed it. I've got no family left, and any friends I once had are afraid to associate themselves with me now.

I sit back lazily on the couch, and look around for something that might suffice as a token. Finally, I have an idea.

"Hey," I say to the youngest Peacekeeper, hoping that he might be a newbie. I think he is, as he jumps when I speak. "Could you get me a small plastic bag?"

"What?" he asks, confused.

"A small…plastic…bag," I say slowly, annunciating the syllables.

"No," an older one barks. "We're your guards, not your servants."

"Wow," I say, widening my eyes. "I get my own personal set of guards? Cool."

The senior Peacekeeper grimaces. "We're not here to protect you, you understand that. You're a smart girl," he says in a slightly patronizing tone, "you should know your situation."

I bolt upright. "And you should know your situation. If I wanted, I could steal that gun from Newbie over there just like I did your friend, then shoot all of you. I couldn't escape, sure, there's too many outside, but I don't think that you'd enjoy dying very much. So…" I trail off, "get me a plastic bag."

The Peacekeeper narrows his eyes, but nods reluctantly. "You," he orders Newbie, "get a plastic bag."

Startled, the boy rushes off and returns a few minutes later with a ziploc bag, which he warily gives to me.

"Thanks very much!" I exclaim, and spend the rest of the visiting time fiddling with it. The Peacekeepers now definitely seem to think I'm crazy, which, is totally fine with me. I don't care what they think.

Finally, visiting time is over, and I'm shoved out of the Justice Building, where Peacekeepers are once again guarding the path I'll walk. About halfway to the train station, I crouch down. Immediately, the sound of two dozen guns loading fills my ears, but I ignore it. I'm not trying to escape, not anymore. I built myself a reputation, sure, but I don't want to have the Gamemakers any more against me than they already are. Instead of trying to run, I simply scoop up a handful of dirt and put it in my bag, sealing it carefully. There. Now I have a little piece of home with me.

I stand up, tuck the bag into my pocket, and dust my hands off.

"What're you all staring at?" I inquire, before striding off towards the station.

_Just an eighteen-year old orphan rebel, _I answer myself in my head.

_A _dead _eighteen-year old orphan rebel, _that little niggling voice corrects me.

_Not if I can help it, _I respond grimly.

**Ta-da! Sorry for the shortness, since Alfie doesn't have any family I couldn't do much extending for before-reapings or goodbyes, but I think she's epic enough, right? Also, Quicquidlibet, I hope that I portrayed her pretty well, because I somehow lost your application for her, even though I distinctly remember seeing it in my inbox for EVER. I remember the main things, though: name, age, rebel-bit, arena strategy, and what she's going to do for the Gamemakers, but I had to ad-lib on reaction to being reaped and the family thing, but judging on what I remember, this should be fairly accurate.**

**R&R! **

**~Myrtle**


End file.
